The Amell Chronicles
by WitchwithKids
Summary: Formerly "Ferelden Sunset." A re-telling of the events from the Dragon Age universe. Circle Mage Solona Amell is not the Hero, and Apostate Marian Hawke is not the Champion, but these cousins inadvertantly play significant roles as the events leading up to the Inquisition unfold. What will fate bring them on their journey through life, love, and everything in between?
1. Amaryllis

**Chapter One – Amaryllis**

_So do I remind you of someone you never met?_

_A lonely silhouette._

_And do I remind you of somewhere you want to be?_

_So far out of reach._

_I wish you would open up for me_

_'Cause I want to know you._

4:18 Cloudreach; 9:28 Dragon

The final light of day spread across the waters of Lake Calenhad, splashing the clouds above in a beautiful array of mauve and lavender. There was a slight breeze, and the scent of an distant storm blew through the open window of the arboretum. Curled up in the alcove, Solona Amell closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. She tried her best to end each day of study in the sunlit room, one of the few places that offered both seclusion and a view of something other than the stone walls of the Circle Tower. The bars would ensure that she wouldn't fall, or jump as so many others had done in the centuries past, and she savored the final moments of daylight.

The yard below was silent, the men having abandoned their training as the sun neared the horizon. No Templar at Kinloch Hold could ever brag of a sagging middle, which was more than could be said for some of the mages. Solona secretly wished that First Enchanter Irving would mandate exercise routines for her colleagues, if for no other reason than their own health. She had even voiced her concern to Wynne following one instance where a portly mage collapsed on the stairs, but her mentor had apparently not followed through on the suggestion.

The rustle of paper snapped Solona out of her thoughts as the last bit of light disappeared from the sky. She had forgotten the scroll in her lap, lost in thought as she had been. The bells would be ringing soon to announce the evening meal, and reluctantly Solona eased out of her seat and shut the glass. Knowing that she would most likely return after supper, she left her books on the table near the fireplace and slipped out the door. The silent but ever-present Templar nodded at her, acknowledging that she was the last to leave the room.

Most of her colleagues never bothered going to the arboretum unless it was necessary. It was housed on the same level of the tower as the Templar barracks, and being surrounded by their keepers was not something mages actively sought. Solona wasn't like most mages, though. She kept to herself, buried in her studies and her work. Her mentor, Enchanter Wynne, had trusted her alone with the plants and in the still-room for the past three years, and even the Templars had begun to go to her for treating their various ailments.

The first bell rang just as she was halfway down her first set of stairs. Thankful that the dining hall was only one floor below, Solona was ahead of the pack of fellow apprentices, but the sounds of their feet echoed through the stone stairwell from the lower levels. **Small** feet. The littlest mages never wasted a second of mealtime since it meant precious few moments of free time to playonce they had eaten. She mostly ignored the few youngsters that had managed to rush past her as they all approached the third level, but as she pushed open the door to the dining room, a familiar hand slipped into her own.

"Good evening, Faris," she said softly, giving him one of her rare smiles.

"Good evening, Apprentice Solona," replied the elven boy, returning her expression. "Did Enchanter Wynne tell you that you're to be my mentor once you pass your Harrowing?"

"She did," confirmed Solona, watching his expression brighten. Faris had already spent the past three moon-turns under her tutelage in the healing arts, but she hadn't been able to formally accept him as an apprentice since she was, technically, still one herself. The boy had been with the Circle since he was a mere four years old, packed up and carted away from Denerim with two other young mages and a half-dozen Templars fresh out of training. They had bonded almost as soon as he arrived, with her only rival for his affection being one of the young men he had traveled with. Her studies had never put her in direct contact with Ser Cullen, but Solona had learned quite a bit about the Templar through Faris.

"Are you scared?" he asked, breaking her unconscious habit of looking for the man whenever she knew he would be around.

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't," she admitted, leading him to the sideboard where an array of trenchers and stew had been placed.

"You'll do fine," a voice behind them piped up. Turning, Solona saw a lopsided grin smeared across the chiseled features of her friend Anders. "You've been ready for the Harrowing for nearly two years now. I honestly don't know why the First Enchanter has waited so long."

"Chantry law states that mages can't go through with the Harrowing ritual until after their..."

"Seventeenth birthing day. Yes, I'm familiar with it. A stupid rule as far as I'm concerned."

"Everything is a stupid rule as far as you're concerned," Solona countered, steering Faris to a seat with a bowl in hand, away from her conversation with Anders. She honestly didn't know how they had become friends in the first place. The handsome blonde Enchanter was four years her elder, charismatic, had a weakness for wine and women, and was a troublemaker to the Nth degree. Solona was the epitome of what a Circle Mage should be. Mostly.

"You just don't know what life is like outside the Tower," he countered, just as he did every time his various antics were brought up.

"I don't **want** to know. Maker, Anders, do you remember how many bouts of influenza I tended this past winter? How many broken bones, burns and concussions I've treated? Food poisoning, lyrium addiction, **birth control**? The Circle infirmary keeps me busy enough, and now I'm facing my final test to become a fully-trained Enchanter and take on my first apprentice." She had kept her voice low to avoid drawing attention to their conversation, and Anders had walked with her to a relatively isolated table, but she could still feel eyes on them as they talked.

"For which I am insanely envious of, you know," he admitted as they sat together. "They didn't give **me** an apprentice, and I passed my Harrowing two years ago."

"You're lucky to not have been made Tranquil."

"True enough," sighed Anders as he shoveled a bite of stew between his lips. "At least here I have you to keep me in check."

"For the most part."

"Also true."

"And you don't have to eat your own cooking."

Solona bit back a smile as he nearly choked with laughter, but at least it had cut the tension. She hated arguing Circle politics with Anders. For as long as she had known him, he tested the limits of the rules, and had even managed to escape four times already. She hadn't been joking about the Tranquil comment. Several of their acquaintances had been subject to the rite for lesser infractions, but for some reason Anders had never received anything harsher than solitary confinement for a few weeks.

As baffling as their friendship was to everyone, she was glad for it. True companions were few and far between in the Tower, and Solona could always count on him for a pick-me-up right before she realized that she even needed one. He was the closest thing to a brother she was likely to have, and if he ever managed to sever his ties with the Circle of Magi she would miss Anders terribly.

"You'll do fine, Sol," he said quietly, reaching across the table and placing a hand over hers. When she managed a weak smile in reply, Anders gave it a quick squeeze, and she didn't know if he was talking about the Harrowing or her current chain of thought. "If you don't, they'll probably make me take on your Apprentice and then I'll be stuck here."

She stole a glance behind her, resting her gaze on Faris. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of familiar brass hair across the room and quickly turned back towards Anders. She laughed aloud at the mental picture he painted, carrying on about being on the run with an elven apprentice trailing behind him, and for a moment Solona tried to forget her worries. Would that the Harrowing be the greatest of them.

.oOo.

Cullen was exhausted. He had drawn morning duty in the library, followed by an entire afternoon consumed in the training yard. True, he had only intended on the usual daily workout, but Graegoir's news has spurred him to continue long after. Finally, once his frustrations had been sated and his body was weary, Cullen had retreated back indoors to bathe before the dinner bell. It was all he could do just to lift the spoon to his mouth, let alone pay attention to his surroundings.

"How long do you think they've been at it?" said a Templar to his left, nudging him in the shoulder. Stew splashed onto the table, but Cullen wasn't up to the task of cleaning it just yet.

"Who's been at what?" he asked, hoping to not seem rude by ignoring the conversation completely as he wanted. His companion waved casually in the direction of a table on the other side of the room and Cullen's stomach lurched. No matter how many times Faris had told him that his tutor and Anders were just friends, he still had a strange aversion to seeing them together.

"They've been joined at the hip since before either of us came to the Tower," Cullen replied, hoping to convince himself as much as anyone else listening in.

"Cullen's right," remarked an older man across from him. "I was here when they brought Anders in. She was still in pigtails then and he was the first Healing Apprentice close to her own age. They act more like kin than lovers. There's affection there, sure, but I've never seen him look at her the way he does the other lovelies."

"Not sure why," replied Kayal, the first speaker. "She's certainly a looker."

Cullen couldn't deny that fact. Tall and willowy, with just the right amount of curve, she had drawn the eye of most males in the tower, himself included. In fact, this wasn't the first conversation he'd been coaxed into concerning the quiet apprentice with the silver-blonde hair. Closing his eyes to drown out the others, Cullen reflected on what the Knight-Commander had told him earlier that afternoon.

When he opened them, all he saw was Solona. Laughing at some joke Anders had told, no doubt, from the way her head was thrown back and the smirk of triumph on the older mage's face. Her silken tresses swayed slightly with the movement, giving him a glimpse of the curve of her neck and shoulders, tempting him with desires he had tried so hard to suppress. She was a woman grown now, not the awkwardly beautiful adolescent she had been when he first arrived at the Tower.

"Her Harrowing is tomorrow," he said softly, turning his attention back to his meal, even though he had completely lost his appetite.

"Don't worry, son," said the elder Templar, a hint of sympathy in his voice. "She's a strong one. That fool friend of hers made it out of the Harrowing chamber intact, and she's ten times the mage he'll ever be."

"If he'd ever manage to get hurt or sick, he'd know that," snorted someone behind him. Cullen grinned at the Knight-Commander as he turned and the entire table started to stand at attention. Graegoir waved them back down and continued. "The First Enchanter and I have every confidence in Apprentice Solona's ability to pass her ordeal."

"She'd better," grumbled Kayal. "One of the few mages in this place that's worth a damn. Rest of 'em are only fit for Tranquility if you ask me."

"Just because the Maker's purpose for them isn't always clear, doesn't mean He doesn't have one," Graegoir chided, and the young Templar shrank in his seat. "Rest well, men. Ser Cullen, I shall see you on the morrow."

Cullen watched as the Knight-Commander left the dining hall, then gathered up his plate and stood. He nodded a farewell to his companions, but not before Kayal managed to get one last question in.

"You're in the Chamber tomorrow, aren't you?" Cullen dipped his head in the affirmative before turning and walking away from the table. "Lucky bastard," he heard, faintly, from one of the others. _No_, he thought, heading towards the stairs to seek out his bed for what he hoped to give him a decent night's rest. _Luck had nothing to with it._

.oOo.

As expected, the arboretum was dark and silent when Solona arrived following the evening meal. Normally she would have spent the evening in the dormitory, but with the buzz about her pending Harrowing, there was no way to guarantee any peace until she waited for the majority of the other apprentices to go to bed. Braziers burned low in the corners of the room, enchanted to keep a constant temperature for some of the rare plants the mages needed for their various potions. With the barest touch of magic, Solona lit a lantern near her favorite window and moved forward to her perch in the sill.

She hadn't gotten through more than ten pages in one of her books before the shuffle of feet in the doorway caught her attention. The enormous silhouette of a Templar filled the space, and she nearly overlooked the smaller one standing next to it. As the two cleared the small bit of darkness between the entryway and the pool of light from her lantern, Solona noticed that Cullen had brought Faris to see her. Putting down the book, she extended an arm and motioned for the boy to join her in the window, sparing a curious glance at his escort.

"The Senior Enchanter said I could come see you," Faris said matter-of-factly, crawling into her lap and leaning with his back against her chest. "But it's past curfew so she asked Ser Cullen to bring me."

"Well that was kind of them both to accommodate you," she replied, her words for the boy but her gaze on the Templar. He was tired, that much was clear, and Solona was certain that if anyone but Faris had made the request, Cullen would already be fast asleep in his bunk. At his nod of acknowledgment, she gave her attention to the child and ran a hand over his still-damp hair. "Did you remember your manners?"

"Yes, ma'am. I thanked them both already." They sat in silence for a few minutes, with Solona looking out across the water while she stroked her fingers through his dark hair to dry it. She was keenly aware of Cullen watching them, certain that he had been ordered to stay until Faris was sent to bed. Even without his armor, he cut an imposing figure standing at attention, though she knew this wasn't an official assignment.

"You're welcome to sit down, Ser Cullen," she suggested, mustering up her courage and nodding towards a small couch near one of the heaters. He seemed to startle the tiniest bit when she addressed him directly, almost as if he had expected his presence to be ignored. But she was pleased to see that he took her suggestion to heart, and moved towards the seat. Cullen sat straight on the couch, feet on the floor and hands in his lap. It may not have been the most comfortable position in Solona's opinion, but at least he wasn't standing on the edge of the shadows any longer, and the ghost of a smile tugged at her lips before turning her attention to the child in her arms.

"What are those flowers down there?" he asked, pointing out the window to the water's edge. In the moonlight, there was a good view of the training yard and the small expanse of grounds beyond it, and Solona easily saw what Faris was talking about. "I can see them from the dormitory, but I've never seen them grown in here."

"That's because they won't grow in arboretums or hot houses," she replied. "The Tevinter name for it is 'Amaryllis' but here we call them Witch's Tears."

"Why are they called that?"

"I don't know the whole story, but have you seen the red streaks in the middle of the white petals?" Faris squinted, concentrating on the flowers, and Solona envied his keen elven eyesight. When he nodded, she continued. "When the flower first blooms, it's completely white. As it matures, it gets the red stripes, almost as if it's crying. There are a few varieties where it's blue or pink, but the red is most common."

"Red like blood?"

"Yes, red like blood. Because blood can corrupt the pure."

"And what about the other colors?"

"Well, the pink varieties come from someone who had too much time on their hands a long time ago and they tried to breed out the red. Pink was the best they could do."

"And the blue?"

"Healer's Touch," said Cullen softly, startling the two mages into remembering that he was there. When they looked at him, he shrugged and leaned forward in his seat to peer out the nearest window. "I had a similar conversation with someone when I was Faris' age."

"I was a little younger when I asked Wynne, but I'm a girl, so I guess my interest in flowers at the age of five is justified," Solona replied, giving him a genuine smile. Shyly, Cullen returned it before returning his attention out the window and fidgeting with his hands. It was apparent that he wouldn't be leaving until they did, and the hour was starting to get late for all of them. Shifting from her seat in the window, she helped Faris down and stretched out her legs. "Will you be returning us to the dormitory, Ser Cullen?"

"It would be my pleasure, Apprentice Solona," he said as he stood, scooping a sleepy Faris into his arms. Her stomach flipped at the sight of the handsome, muscular young man carrying the petite elven child, and Solona masked it behind the gesture of blowing out the lantern. In a different world, she could allow herself certain fantasies, but Kinloch Hold was not the place for them.

Mages and Templars just **did not** happen.

* * *

_**A/N : All rights for the Dragon Age series belong to Bioware. Opening lyric credit: "Amaryllis" by Shinedown.**_

_**This is the first chapter of what will become "The Amell Chronicles: Volume I." At this time (1-25-2013), there are 29 chapters outlined and five completed, but postings will be every 3-4 weeks due to time constraints in real life. "Volume II" is in the planning stages. "Volume III" depends on if I can work something from "Dragon Age III: Inquisition" into this particular storyline once it's released this fall. For the most part, this will follow the regs for a "T" rating, but there will be a handful of chapters to warrant the "M" rating, and I feel it's easier to start with this rating than change it later. This is, by far, my most adventurous undertaking in the realm of fanfiction, and I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it. :)**_


	2. If I Didn't Know Any Better

**Chapter Two: If I Didn't Know Any Better**

_I turned around._

_Before I could run I found you_

_Already settled down_

_In the back of my mind_

4:19 Cloudreach; 9:28 Dragon

The Harrowing Chamber was a hot, stuffy room that stank of magic and incense. There was an undercurrent of death, almost as if the blood of those who hadn't passed their ordeal was soaked into the stone floor. It was in no way a hospitable room, and Cullen shifted his muscles uncomfortably while the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter went over the process with Solona.

It was his first time as a part of the ceremony, selected as the Templar who would have the duty of cutting down the apprentice should she fail. His bunk-mate, Sean, had needed to perform the task on the last mage to undergo the rite, and it wasn't something that Cullen was particularly endeared to should Solona succumb to the temptation she would inevitably have to face. In spite of everyone's confidence that she would pass this test, the thought of running his sword through one of the most purely talented mages the Circle had seen in generations didn't appeal to him. But, when it came down to it, he knew that if she fell prey to the demon's lure then she would be truly lost and no longer the woman who had unknowingly endeared herself to so many in the Tower. That singular thought was his only consolation.

He watched through the the slit in his visor as the voices fell silent and Solona approached the pedestal with the bowl of lyrium in the center of the room. As she reached for it, his grip on the ceremonial sword in front of him tightened and he couldn't help but whisper a small prayer for her. There was no way she could have heard him, but Solona looked up as the liquid concoction began to take over and locked her eyes with his. For the split second before the Fade took over, Cullen could have sworn she had recognized him.

He had to fight the urge to rush forward as she collapsed to the floor. He took his cue from Knight-Commander Graegoir, who slowly walked towards her, but stopped once within a sword-length's distance. It seemed an eternity before he reached the sleeping form, with only the gentle rise and fall of her chest to assure Cullen that she lived. First Enchanter Irving moved in closer to inspect her, likely to make certain that Solona hadn't been hurt during her unconscious fall. When it was certain that she was safe, the elderly mage moved her arms and legs into a more comfortable position.

"It is in the Maker's hands now," Graegoir said solemnly as his friend stood up next to him. As the three men stood vigil over the young woman, Cullen studied her. He had never been as near to her as he was now, barring the walk back to the apprentice dormitory the night before, in which he'd been too preoccupied by the boy in his arms to watch the woman next to him very closely. Solona looked almost at peace in her sleep, though he knew her mind was in the Fade battling Maker only knew what evils.

Time moved at the pace of a snail. He didn't dare watch the hourglass, certain that if he did, it would be to discover that it was moving at a regular pace after all and Graegoir would decide that her trial had already gone on for too long. Instead, Cullen studied her features. The high cheekbones hidden behind a curtain of hair that he longed to tuck behind an ear. Dark lashes contrasting against porcelain skin. He watched Solona for the better part of twenty minutes before first sign of her waking made itself known.

It started with the twitch of her finger, then her eyes snapped open. They were unfocused at first, but when she moved to get off the floor, one hand automatically flew to her mouth as a fit of nausea took over. Fortunately, Irving had known what to expect, and had both a bowl and towel in front of her as the contents of her stomach were expelled.

Cullen's helm and gauntlets clattered on the floor, forgotten in his need to help. While Solona heaved silvery-blue bile into the bowl, he gingerly pulled back her hair and tied it back with a strip of leather that Irving handed to him. The First Enchanter was on her other side, holding her up by the shoulders since her arms were shaking too badly to bear her own weight.

"A new record, I believe," Graegoir stated, a hint of pride in his voice. "And not a trace of corruption."

"She'll need rest," added Irving, pulling the exhausted mage into a paternal embrace. "Her new quarters are still being readied, so perhaps we can take her..."

"The Arboretum," Cullen suggested, flushing as the two older men scrutinized him for interrupting. "It's, uh, quiet, and easier to get to than the dormitory." His elders exchanged a look that he couldn't quite read, but when the Knight-Commander turned his gaze back to Cullen, he gave a slight tilt of his head.

"I can set a guard to make certain she's not disturbed. Ser Cullen, you can assist the First Enchanter with getting our young mage to the Arboretum, and then come see me in my office when you're done."

Cullen's heart sank. His suggestion had been an impulse, something he was not prone to giving in to. Certain that he would be facing a reprimand, he wiped any trace of emotion from his face and nodded in acknowledgment of his orders. Silently, he helped Solona to her feet, careful not to look at her as he did so. Cullen knew it was taking every last reserve of energy she had to stand, and he dared not add the burden of worry for her while under the watchful eye of his superiors.

On her left, Irving had placed one hand under her elbow and another at her wrist, a gesture Cullen mimicked out of propriety. The trio walked slowly out of the Harrowing chamber, with the two mages engaging in a whispered conversation. His ears picked out bits of what they were discussing, which mostly consisted of the First Enchanter's tales of his own youth, apparently spent in the tower much as Solona's had been.

Cullen was acutely aware of the feel of her skin under his fingers, and actively trying to ignore it. Twice she stumbled on the stairs, her hand seeking his, though he was certain it was to keep her balance regardless of how hard she squeezed. Solona smelled of incense, herbs and magic, but it was a combination unlike any of the other mages he had been in contact with. He had been in an apple orchard once after the final harvest, and he had begun to associate mages with the stench of old, burned leaves decaying in an autumn downpour. But this one singular young woman was like that same orchard after a spring rain, fresh and full of life.

Once they reached the Arboretum, Irving settled her comfortably onto a cushioned bench while Cullen added a bit of fuel to the brazier nearby. She watched him through half-lidded eyes, and he felt a flush creep up his neck in response. Aware that the First Enchanter was still present, he stood at attention and tried to shrug off the emotional slip he had made.

"I can take it from here, Ser Cullen," said Irving, a touch of paternal understanding in his voice to soften the mechanical response. "I believe the Knight-Commander is waiting for you in his office."

His steps were leaden as he went back up the stairs to visit with Graegoir, chiding himself for overstepping his bounds. To interrupt not just the First Enchanter, but to insert himself into a conversation that clearly didn't involve him to begin with? It was completely out of character for Cullen. He'd followed the Tower's rules to the letter, which is more than he could say for most of his Templar brothers. Insubordination, dereliction of duty and relations with the mages were severely frowned upon by the Order. The closest he had come to fraternization was his odd friendship with the boy Faris, but he knew of several comrades who had retreated to a quiet corner with a woman while on guard.

The door to the Knight-Commander's office was open, but Cullen rapped his knuckles on the frame to announce himself nonetheless. Graegoir looked up from the paperwork he had been engrossed in and nodded an acknowledgment. As he stepped through the threshold, Cullen closed the door behind him and approached his superior cautiously. He stood at perfect attention, hand clasped behind his back and eyes forward, not looking at Graegoir, but at a spot on the wall slightly to his left.

"Do you understand why I asked you here, Ser Cullen?" the Knight-Commander asked.

"I spoke out of turn in the Harrowing Chamber, Ser," he replied, schooling his expression.

"Yes, there is that. But I was referring specifically about your apparent attachment to a certain Circle mage. Do you not remember the Chantry's teachings?" Cullen's chest tightened and his eyes drifted to meet Graegoir's.

"'Magic is to serve man, not to rule over him,'" he recited, absently grasping for the first and most-often repeated chant that the priests had drilled into the populace. The Knight-Commander's face softened, and he motioned for Cullen to relax.

"That is one of many which warn us of the temptation mages can fall prey to. It is one of the reasons our order was founded. The Chant of Light is taught to all who follow the Maker's path, but no two people will interpret it the same way. Within the Imperium, it is mostly ignored, yet in Kirkwall it is strictly upheld. The Ferelden Order falls somewhere in between. Tell me, Ser Cullen, what do **you** believe the purpose of the Templars to be?"

The Knight-Commander's question was unexpected, and Cullen shifted uncomfortably as he considered an answer. "The Chantry teaches that we are to protect the citizens of Thedas from malificarum and apostates. We serve the Maker by watching over the mages of the Circle, and by apprehending those who are not."

"I am familiar with the Chantry's teachings, but that isn't what I asked for."

"I think..." started Cullen, but he stopped himself, searching for the right words. He continued when Graegoir raised an eyebrow in unbridled curiosity. "I believe that the Chantry is right. But, I also believe that we serve to protect the mages as well. From themselves. And from those who might influence them to seek corruption."

"What sort of influence, Ser Cullen?"

"Fear. Hate. Lust. Pride. Mages are susceptible to the same vices as everyone else, but the consequences can be considerably more damaging."

"And what of love?"

"L...love, Knight-Commander?"

"Yes, Ser Cullen. Love." Graegoir paused, pouring himself a drink from the pitcher of water near his desk. He stared into the fire for a moment, obviously battling with a memory. When he looked back at Cullen, there was a sadness in his eyes. "Years ago, I traveled with a group of my brothers to a small village to bring in a child reported to have magic. Little did we know that the mother was an apostate, living quietly under our scrutiny. She lived in a way that none were aware of her abilities, not even her husband. Or the family she had been raised with."

"Yet when you came to take her child..." prompted Cullen when his superior went quiet again. He didn't like where this story was going. At all.

"The mage used blood magic to protect her family. You see, the husband was ill. It was the child's natural talent at healing that was keeping him alive. So, by taking the child, we would also be taking the life of her husband, which we didn't find out about until...after. I lost one of my Templar brothers that day, but the child...well, Irving and I did our best to make the Circle Tower a home for her, but it would be years before she was able to truly call it one."

Something in Cullen's mind clicked as the Knight-Commander's words fell into place with what he already knew. His eyes widened, and Graegoir nodded.

"Solona Amell is well-aware of what the cost of love can be for a mage. In the fifteen years she has been here, only two have succeeded in getting past the emotional barrier she defends herself with."

"Is that why Anders is kept from being made Tranquil?"

"And why Faris was selected to be her apprentice, yes. Those bonds of friendship are to be encouraged. But romantic love. Familial love. Those are not only forbidden to her as a Circle Mage, but she has witnessed first hand what it will lead to. I have seen the way you look at her..." Cullen opened his mouth to deny it, but Graegoir held up a hand for silence. "She is talented, strong in her abilities, and dedicated to the Circle. She is also, undeniably, an alluring young woman. But she has spurned the advances others have made. It will be no different for you."

"But I haven't..."

"So let it remain that way, Ser Cullen," Graegoir interrupted, his tone increasing, silencing Cullen's denial. He knew the Knight-Commander had spoken his piece, and that the conversation was closed. Hardening his expression and standing at attention again, Cullen nodded in admission.

"Yes, Knight-Commander."

.oOo.

Knight-Commander Graegoir slumped into his chair as soon as Ser Cullen left the room. He leaned heavily against his desk, burying his face in his hands. When the door clicked shut again, Graegoir looked up to find Wynne standing in the young knight's place.

"You told him," she stated. "About Solona."

"I did. But what good it will do, we have yet to see."

"**Please** tell me you didn't give him permission to openly court her."

"No, nothing of the sort. If anything, I was trying to discourage that course of action."

"They are the future of this Circle, Graegoir, and possibly of others as well," Wynne replied, softly but with a hint of worry in her voice. "Forbidding their budding relationship may end up doing more harm than good."

"I never told him not to court her."

"So what **did** you tell him?"

"In a nutshell? Not to attempt what others have failed at. Cullen's a smart lad. He'll sort out the meaning eventually."

"And Solona?"

Graegoir sighed and leaned against the desk again. "We can't push this on them. Maker, Wynne, we can't even openly support this. But it has to develop on its own, over time. Which is why I warned Cullen not to openly and aggressively pursue her. Their bond needs to be solid, something they can stand on together when it's their time to watch over the Tower. Encouraging a casual roll in the hay won't accomplish that."

The Senior Enchanter stood in silence as she contemplated Graegoir's words. She wound her fingers together and bit her lip in frustration, but they both knew he was right. A pairing between the two youths would be inevitable, especially once one factored in their upbringings, personalities and mutual attachment to the elven boy, Faris. If nurtured correctly, it could set a precedent for peace between the Templars and the Mages. If not, it could result in utter disaster.

"She may not be your apprentice any longer, but Solona will still see you as her mentor. Keep an eye on her. If she needs you, be there. If not, don't push." Wynne crossed her arms across her chest and raised an eyebrow. "I mean it. No meddling."

"Oh, all right. Fine," she said, giving the Knight-Commander a cheeky grin. Trusting that she would keep her word, Graegoir dismissed her. As soon as Wynne was gone, he had clapped his hands over his face once more.

* * *

****Disclaimer** "Dragon Age" belongs to Bioware. Title/lyric credit: "If I Didn't Know Any Better" by Alison Krauss & Union Station**

**Yes, I'm posting ahead of schedule. This is normally my "Butterfly" week, but I've had no time to work on anything new for that story, and, well... Chapter One looked a little lonely and got a bit lost in the shuffle. Chapter Three wil be up in two weeks. :)**


	3. Blurry

**Chapter Three: Blurry**

_Everyone is changing_

_There's no one left that's real_

_So make up your own ending_

_And let me know just how you feel_

_'Cause I am lost without you_

_I cannot live at all_

_My whole world surrounds you_

_I stumble then I crawl_

05:21 Bloomingtide, 09:30 Dragon

Solona woke to the assault of elfroot on her nose. She blinked, confused to a moment as to why that would be, then slowly remembered that she had slipped away to the infirmary at some point during the night due to the unending exertions of her amorous roommates. Anders had managed to convince Petra that he might never see her again since she was joining the king's army in Ostagar, and Solona had gotten little-to-no rest the past couple of nights as a result.

The entire Tower had been in a frenzy since King Cailan's summons had come shortly after Summerday. The decision on which mages to send had taken the better part of a week, and everyone from the youngest apprentice to the First Enchanter himself had been busy gathering supplies and concocting various potions. The store-room had been nearly depleted of herbs, and soon she would need to start harvesting from the plants in the Arboretum.

Only two of the mages selected had needed to pass on their apprentices to others, and Solona was secretly happy that she would be staying at the tower with Faris while others like Anders had moped and complained at not being chosen. The decision to take Wynne, however, had been a no-brainer, and Solona was excited about the opportunity her mentor had been given. A full dozen of the Circle's enchanters had been selected to help in the coming battle with the darkspawn, along with a small contingent of Templars to keep watch on them, including Ser Cullen.

As always, whenever her thoughts turned to the young knight, Solona's heart gave a sudden and undeniable lurch. Their interactions had been minimal in the two years since her Harrowing, but each moment had become a cherished memory. Twice per week he had afternoon guard duty in the library, where she and Faris would spend time in both study and practice. A few times she had caught Cullen smiling proudly when the boy mastered a lesson, and Solona had never actively discouraged them from spending time together when time allowed. Three times she had run into him while he was heading to the barracks and she to the Arboretum in the early morning hours. One of those times he had obviously just bathed, nude from the waist up and the scent of soap clinging to every perfectly-honed muscle.

Solona wasn't prone to girlish fantasy, but it had been weeks before she could close her eyes without his image burning against her lids following that particular incident. But it wasn't his appearance that caused her heart to race. She remembered, with perfect clarity, the conversation she had with Faris on the night prior to her Harrowing, and apparently, so had Cullen. Exactly one year later, there was a beautiful Amaryllis bloom on the windowsill where she had been sitting with her soon-to-be apprentice. The next year was the same, preceded by the book she found for her Birthing Day.

After some sleuthing of her own, Solona discovered that Cullen's own Birthing Day fell on Summerday, and she had returned the favor by having Faris sneak it to him. To anyone looking on, it had been a book, much like the one she had received. But she had meticulously glued the pages together and hollowed the center to create a box, and hid her true gift inside.

Absently, her hand went to the back of her head to play with the single shortened lock of hair behind her ear. A grin passed her lips every time she imagined what his reaction had been, for it was a very personal sentiment. Had they been true sweethearts, like the young couple in the story he had given her, it would have been a symbol of commitment. But for Solona, it was her way of giving him permission to court her. In secret, of course, because far too many people would frown on a relationship between a mage and a Templar, but perhaps over time they could find a way to make it work without having to resort to sneaking around. As it was, with the Tower in a state of battle preparations, she hadn't seen Cullen much at all other than in passing.

"Oh, shit!" she hissed under her breath, a sudden realization dawning on her. In the dark room of the infirmary, Solona changed from her nightdress into her robes, and scurried out into the main hall. The scent coming from the kitchen told her that breakfast would be set out soon, and others would be waking to begin the final preparations for the mages and Templars who would be leaving that afternoon.

That. Afternoon.

And she still hadn't spoken with Cullen since before Summerday.

.oOo.

From the Arboretum, Cullen could see the sun rise perfectly over Lake Calenhad. He had known for years that this is where Solona came each morning, and for the first time he understood why. Kinloch Hold had been her home for so long, yet she never yearned for life outside of it. She understood the dangers of the world outside, and from her view at the window, she could enjoy the beauty of it without having to be a part of it. Cullen wondered if she would soon be watching for signs of his return once the inevitable battle with the darkspawn had drawn to a close and the king no longer needed the Circle mages in the field.

He had wanted to see her one last time, if for no other reason than to thank her for the Birthing Day gift. Zachariah, the Templar who had been standing guard outside her quarters, had told Cullen that she had gone to the infirmary to rest for the night, but he held out hope that she was indeed a creature of habit and would come to the Arboretum upon waking.

He didn't have to wait long. Solona slipped into the room, taking quiet notice of him and making her way across the floor to the window. He watched subtly, letting her know that he had seen her, but not wanting to break the serenity of the morning's peace. She stopped once within an arm's length and leaned against the frame across from Cullen, her violet eyes soaking in his casual appearance. Self-consciously, he ran a hand down his tunic to smooth it out, and nearly jumped out of his skin when her hand shot out to grab his wrist.

Cullen had fashioned the lock of hair she had given him into a bracelet, and the ghost of a shadow played at her lips when Solona realized what he had done. Without hesitating, he slid his arm from her grip and laced his fingers between her own. She didn't resist, and when he tightened his hold she moved towards him, tentative and quiet. Cautiously, he raised his other hand to brush the side of her face, and when Solona looked up at him, there were tears brimming in her eyes.

It would have been so easy to kiss her. To claim her. To show her how much she had come to mean to him since his arrival at the Tower. Instead, Cullen pulled her in closer, resting her head against his chest and wrapping his arm protectively around her shoulders. Solona relaxed into him, releasing whatever pent up emotion she may have been storing into a long, heavy sigh. He felt her hand reach up to his bicep, and Cullen held her just the tiniest bit harder.

He closed his eyes, and for the briefest moment, the Tower melted away. She wasn't just a mage, and he wasn't just a Templar. He was a man, heading off to battle, holding on to the woman he would be leaving behind. They didn't need words. This single moment that was theirs, and theirs alone, was all they needed to confirm the way they felt.

The tolling of the morning bell startled them out of their embrace, but their hands were still intertwined as they looked at one another. Solona's eyes sparkled with unshed tears, but the shy smile she gave to Cullen told him that she was happy, not sad. She gave his hand one last squeeze before stepping back and releasing his fingers. Casting her gaze towards the door, he understood that it was time for them both to leave, and that final preparations for the journey to Ostagar were likely already underway.

He watched as Solona followed her own footsteps across the stone floor, heard the low tones of her speaking with a Templar in the hallway. They hadn't been in here long enough for a tryst, but Cullen knew he would earn more than one comment from his brothers once he slipped out of the room after her. He should have been bothered by that. At one point he very well would have. But he knew the truth. And the truth was simple.

Cullen was falling in love with Solona Amell.

* * *

**Disclaimer: "Dragon Age" belongs to Bioware. **

**Thank you for all of the new story/author follows and favorites the past few weeks. I appreciate the love you are showing to the "Amell Chronicles." Still waiting for Hawke to make her appearance? Stay tuned, readers. Marian will be making her debut in my next post!**


	4. Wildflower

**Chapter Four: Wildflower**

_I'm just a girl_

_That needs a little sun_

_A little rain_

_An open field to play_

07:24 Solace, 09:30 Dragon

Marian Hawke sat on the small pier over the river, skirt hiked to her knees and bare feet dangling in the water. If it had been any other day, she would have been at peace. A fishing rod sat next to her, its line sunk into the depths below, and her ears caught the quiet hum of Lothering over the buildings behind her.

But it wasn't the buzz of the daily market, or the soothing chants of the temple priests that held her attention. The clank of armor from straggling soldiers and the bustle of refugees flooding into town had damaged the calm of their peaceful community, setting her on edge. Too many strangers. Too high of a risk of being caught and turned in to the Templars.

"I thought I'd find you here," she heard her twin's voice call as he dropped down from the crates piled in the alley. Like all of the Hawke children, Garrett had that unmistakable shock of black hair, and Marian felt herself smiling as he approached. Her brothers had managed to drag themselves home from the disaster at Ostagar two days before, and it was a small comfort to have them back.

"Mother wanted some fish for the stew pot," she explained, nodding towards the basket that was nearly full. "Figured I'd make myself useful since there's not much else I can do."

"Well, you _could_ always come with me and Carver. We heard that there are some bandits up on the highway taking advantage of everyone coming in," Garrett suggested. Marian shrugged her shoulders, pulling up her rod and shaking the water from her toes.

They took the long way back into town, cutting through the field instead of through the alley to avoid hauling her catch over the storage crates that had piled up. Marian loved the feel of the autumn grass under her feet, and there was a scent of smoke in the air. Whether it was from someone's cook fire or from something more dangerous, she didn't know, but the changing of the season was heavy before them. As their cottage came into sight, a breeze picked up and caressed her face, loosing a few strands from her braid.

A welcoming yip from Grunt, the mabari hound that Garrett had trained with in the Ferelden army, was their only greeting as the twins approached their home. Absently, Marian reached into the basket of fish and tossed him one, his bark of appreciation noted before the dog buried himself nose deep in the treat. She smiled at the sight. Grunt had taken to her as easily as he had bonded with her brother. Given the strength of their relationship, neither Garrett or Marian had been surprised.

Leandra Hawke sat at the dining table, methodically chopping vegetables that would go into the stew pot with the fish her eldest daughter had caught. She had drug out the largest kettle they owned, already sitting over the fire with water near to boiling. As her children approached, she gave them a weak smile.

"Excellent," she noted as Marian set the basket on the bench. "We'll be able to feed quite a few extra mouths tonight with that."

"Do you need any help with dinner?" Marian asked, trying to not sound hesitant. She didn't _really_ feel up to domesticity at the moment, but didn't want to leave her mother high and dry, either. Fortunately, Leandra knew her daughter all too well.

"I can handle it, dear," she replied with a twinkle in her eye. "The boys are wanting to take you with them for a bit."

With her chores averted for the time being, Marian slipped her feet into her town shoes and grabbed her cloak from its peg by the door. She spared a healthy grin for her mother as she and Garrett slipped out the door, Grunt at their heels. Carver would most likely be at the Chantry, and they would pick him up on their way to where the bandits were camped out on the highway. As an afterthought, Marian plucked a few stalks of elfroot as they passed the gate to leave with her sister, Bethany, who had been been in town working with the wounded refugees.

Marian did her best to keep her head high as they walked through Lothering. But while the townsfolk were accustomed to her mysterious and hooded appearance, the newcomers were not. The open stares from the caged Qunari and Chasind sent shivers up her spine, and Garrett turned his head to glare at the wilder folk as they walked past.

"That woman looks as if she'd like to stick a dagger in my gut," she commented once they were out of earshot.

"Only because her husband stares at you like a pup with his first bitch."

Grunt snorted in amusement at her twin's analogy, but Marian had to admit that he was right. She hated the way some men stared after her, and the way women viewed her as a threat. There had only been one who's intentions were honorable and well...he was a Templar. _That _poor lad had been doomed to fail from the start.

Fortunately, she didn't have long to dwell on it as her sister's form came into view. Bethany's hair was shorter than Marian's, cut just past the shoulders and unbound. She was speaking to one of the local farmers, his toddling youngest squirming in her arms while she tried to wrap the boy's obviously broken arm.

"It might slow him down for a few days," Bethany was saying. "But I'd be sure to move those crates away from the side of the house in order to keep the flying lessons at a minimum." The sisters' eyes met briefly, with the younger nodding at the ground beside her. Marian took the cue and set the elfroot down, but not before the boy noticed her.

"Yukky berries!" he called to her, earning a grin in response as she walked away. Yes, the farmer certainly had his hands full with this child. But at least the little imp recalled her lesson after Marian had caught him picking fruit from a poisonous bush the week before.

"And so begins the next generation of your admirers," Garrett teased as they made their way across the bridge to the Chantry. Marian let out an unladylike snort, but she secretly had a soft spot for the kids in town. She'd taught more than a few of them how to sink a hook into the river over the past few years.

"Bite your tongue," she said as they crossed the bridge. "I don't need the women thinking I'll steal their sons, too." As the sight of the Chanter's Board came into view, she sighed with relief. A friendly face at last. Marian exchanged a glance with her twin, and he went on ahead of her into the courtyard to find their brother as she approached the priest standing outside.

"Ah, young Marian," he said, holding out his hands in greeting. The past few weeks had made him weary, and she was glad to see the rare smile on his face. "Andraste's blessings upon you this evening. Have you come to accept Ser Bael's proposal at last?" Marian took his hands, leaning in to place a chaste and familial peck on his cheek.

"Alas, my heart will always belong to you, Chanter Devons," she replied. "I trust all is well?"

"Well enough," he confessed, a sigh heavy in his voice. "There's the usual problems, bandits and the like, but resources for the refugees are stretched thin. Are you and the boys heading out?"

"You know us. Can't sit idle while there's raiders to hassle."

"Bless you, child. You do more for this town than most know." From the corner of her eye, Marian saw her brothers approaching from the Chantry gate and squeezed Devons' hands in farewell. "Maker keep you safe," was all he said before the Hawke siblings took off once more.

They hadn't gotten far before Grunt gave an excited yip and raced ahead of them towards the path that would lead them to the Imperial Highway. There was an answering bark from another hound, and once the trio arrived at the fence that marked the edge of town, they found him tumbling in the dust with a fellow Mabari. There were three strangers, one of whom was dressed in chain mail and speaking with one of the townsfolk. While her brothers moved towards them, Marian held back. This group of travelers didn't have the appearance of the downtrodden refugees.

"Fox!" shouted the leader, just as Garrett was calling to Grunt. The dogs ignored their masters, but the two men let out a whoop of their own when they saw one another. As the man from Lothering slid into the background, she saw first Garrett, then Carver clasp arms in greeting with the mail-clad warrior. A comrade from Ostagar, no doubt. It pleased Marian to know that somebody else's loved one had returned from that horrible battle.

While the veterans exchanged their pleasantries, she took a moment to study the stranger's two companions. The first was a strangely dressed woman carrying a mage's staff. An apostate, no doubt, but she was like no other mage Marian had ever seen. No marks of the Chasind, but she definitely had the look of the Wilds about her. And not a trace of fear in those feral yellow eyes.

The second was a tall, handsome, well-built young man with hair the color of ripened wheat. He wore dented and scratched splint mail and had an enormous broadsword strapped to his back. An insignia on his belt identified him as a Gray Warden, and she remembered the threat that the traitor Loghain had claimed the order to be. His eyes were gold flecked with green, and they watched his companion greet her brothers. They held a sadness that caused Marian's heart to lurch in empathy, and she found herself wondering whom he was grieving for.

Marian was struck from her musings when his gaze slid her way, and she was vaguely aware of Garrett calling her name. A blush filled her cheeks, and she was never more grateful for the cowl as she walked towards the assembled group. At least, she was until Carver yanked it down and muttered, "Manners, Sister."

"And this must be the Mysterious Marian you mentioned," the man in chain mail teased Garrett as he took her hand. The redness in her cheeks disappeared as he kissed her knuckles. _Maker, not another one_, she thought, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "I am Aidan Cousland, of the Gray Wardens. This is Morrigan," a curt nod from the woman, but no further acknowledgment, "and Alistair, my brother-in-arms."

Marian's fingers slipped from Aidan's grip and fell into Alistair's. He was **much** taller up close, and his eyes had lost the despair he had been clinging to only moments before. "My condolences," she said simply. "Many good men and women were lost that night." Surprise flashed across his face for the briefest of seconds, followed by relief. Alistair looked as if he was about to say something, but Aidan beat him to it.

"No thanks to Loghain, leaving us all to die. Traitorous bastard." Alistair flinched at the words and loosened the grip on her hand.

"An act he'll regret when the darkspawn are on his doorstep, I'm sure," she replied, though more for the man in front of her than the one behind. At her words, Alistair tightened his hold and covered her delicate hand between his two large ones. Then he leaned in so close that a wind-swept strand of her hair brushed across his jaw.

"Thank you," was all he said, but the sound of Alistair's voice sent her pulse racing. It was all Marian could do just to acknowledge his thanks with a tiny nod of her head and a small smile when he raised himself back to his full height.

"How cute," said the woman, Morrigan, sarcasm dripping from her tongue. "It seems as though Alistair has finally figured out that he won't catch the plague when he touches a girl." Marian knew she should have been offended. **Alistair** certainly seemed to be. But it was Carver's response that shocked her most.

"You should be more surprised that she's **letting** him."

"Shut up, Carver," she warned, turning her head to glare at him and blushing furiously. Her younger brother just grinned mischievously and tilted his head at Alistair.

"I would, but you're still holding his hand."

* * *

***Disclaimer* Dragon Age, like everything else I love, belongs to Bioware. Lyric credit: "Wildflower" by The Janedear Girls. (also, lyric credit for Ch. 3 is "Blurry" by Puddle of Mudd.)**

**See. I told you Marian would come along soon. :) Thanks for reading. The next chapter will be ... *ahem* ... NSFW. Just warning you all ahead of time.**


	5. We Owned the Night

****AUTHOR'S NOTE: This chapter is NSFW. There is an "M" rating for a reason. With that having been said...enjoy. ** **

**Chapter Five: We Owned the Night**

_She was the purest beauty_

_But not the common kind_

_She had a way about her_

_That made you feel alive_

_And for a moment_

_We made the world stand still_

07:25 Solace, 09:30 Dragon

The clank of swords clashing and men shouting jolted Marian from a hard sleep. She was instantly alert, but after a few seconds, determined that the source was yet **another** tavern brawl. No smell of fire. No fearful screams of townsfolk screaming in terror. Just the now-typical cacophony of two men disagreeing over who cheated whom at a drunken card game. She lay in bed a few moments, listening to the fight. Sleep was no longer an option, not when a certain pair of hazel eyes was determined to haunt her as soon as she closed her own.

Garrett had, of course, invited the newcomers to dinner once it was determined they would be staying a couple of nights in order to get supplies for their journey. Only Morrigan declined, and Marian had spent two hours in agony that evening. Aidan had flirted mercilessly with both her and Bethany, to no avail and their mother's dismay. Alistair, still not terribly talkative but nonetheless a courteous dinner guest, had been deliberately trying to **not** watch Marian, just as she had been doing with him.

But he had been seated next to her, conveniently on her right since she was left-handed, and more than once she'd found one or two of her fingers wound with his under the table. Marian never remembered doing it intentionally, and neither she nor Alistair mentioned it. Thankfully, neither did Garrett, though he did send her a knowing glance or two from where he sat on Alistair's right.

The heat from that night carried through to the next day. Whenever she would see him about town with his traveling party, there would be pleasantries and casual teasing. He was extremely fun to joke with, she found to her amusement, sharing that odd sense of humor that came so easily to the elder two Hawke twins. But with those encounters came a brush of his fingers on her sleeve when Alistair greeted her, her hand at the small of his back as Marian pointed the way to the tavern, their heads huddled together when he quietly asked her opinion about the new companions Aidan was picking up. It was exhilarating. And maddening.

In the dark, seemingly alone in her thoughts, Marian heard Garrett's low hunting whistle from the main room. She answered with a soft tone of her own, a trick they had used as kids to signal one another. Since Marian knew she was no longer the only one awake, she slipped quietly from the bed to join him. Her twin was at the window, quietly viewing the ruckus further down the road.

"He's at the fence. Over by the cage. Watching, like we are." Marian didn't need to know who he meant. Her eyes found Alistair on their own. She wanted to go to him, to spend these last few hours together before he left with the dawn. Garrett must have sensed her wavering on what to do, for he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and kissed her forehead. "The world is changing, Mari," he told her. "Take what happiness you can."

Marian didn't hesitate once her twin released her. She wrapped a cloak around her shoulders, unlatched the door, and slipped out into the night. Silently, she made her way across the yard and down the road towards Alistair. He didn't turn as she approached, though she was sure he could hear the soft padding of her feet in the dirt. Instead, Alistair held out an arm and moved a step away from the fence, making room for Marian to tuck herself into the space between. For what seemed like an eternity, they stood there, his chest pressed against her back as the Templars finally broke up the fight and the small crowd began to disperse. Alistair hadn't worn his armor, and the warmth radiating from his body chased away the bite of the night's chill.

"I could have been one of them, you know," he said, pointing at the retreating form of the knight.

"You wouldn't have been happy doing it."

"And why not? I would have cherished my lyrium addiction and vows of celibacy as truly as Aidan loves his mabari." Marian chuckled at his joke softly as he leaned into her and tucked his chin against her temple. His hands, which always seemed to find a way to wind together with her own, closed more tightly around her fingers and he brought one to his lips. "I'm glad Duncan recruited me, though," Alistair admitted. "Even with the losses at Ostagar, there is still hope. Aidan's a good man. A good **leader**. And there's..." He hesitated a moment. "Well, there's you."

"I'd hardly count myself more worthy than King Cailan. Or Duncan. Or any of the men and women who fell that night."

"You're wrong," Alistair said flatly, turning her around to face him. Marian's head was cupped between his hands, and he caressed her cheek with a calloused thumb. "When the Blight is over, when this whole bloody mess is behind us, I'm coming back here. For you."

"Why?" It came out as a whisper. She was almost as afraid of the answer as she was anxious for it.

"Because I've never wanted anyone the way I want you."

Any response Marian could have thought of died as soon as his lips touched her own. It was hesitant for the barest of seconds, but when she surrendered to him, Alistair wasted no time slowly exploring the art of the kiss. A fire burned in her belly, and as she let loose a soft sigh, Marian felt his tongue slip between the parted lips. She returned the gesture, wrapping her arms around Alistair's waist as his body pressed against hers.

"Is there somewhere we can..." he started to ask, but she hushed him with another quick peck and grabbed his hand. Marian led Alistair along the fence line, away from town. But instead of going all the way around as she and Garrett had done the fateful afternoon that had thrown the Warden into her life, Marian began to climb over as soon as her private fishing pier was in sight. Alistair looked at her curiously, but silently followed. When they reached the edge of the stream, Marian stopped, taking his hand and looking out across the water.

"Before my father died, this was our secret place," she told him quietly, guilt nagging at the back of her mind. "He had one for each of us, no matter where we lived. He taught the boys swordplay even though he wasn't a warrior himself. But Bethany and I...our skills were more akin to his own."

"You're an apostate," Alistair replied matter-of-factly, without a hint of accusation or malice. Marian was startled, and looked back at him, silently wondering how he had known. With a shrug of his enormous shoulders, he added, "Morrigan told Aidan."

"She gave me the impression that you weren't particularly trusting of mages outside the Circle."

"I'm not exactly on the best of terms with Morrigan in general. She's considerably more creepy than you are."

Marian chuckled and fell back into his embrace. "I just didn't want to...you know...take this any further without you knowing. If I'm going to trust you with my body, I need to trust you with the knowledge of who I really am."

"So you've never..." She shook her head against his chest as Alistair ran his hand across her hair, pulling back the hood and planting a kiss on her forehead. "I guess this is a night of firsts for us both."

His own confession burned a hole in Marian's chest, and her heart began to beat wildly as he tilted her head back and captured her mouth again. The hesitancy was gone, replaced by an urgency that was both unfamiliar and welcome. She had spent so much time trying to hide herself from everyone, not allowing herself to make any real friends out of fear of being captured. Yet here was a man who wanted her. Desired her. And he didn't care that she was an apostate mage, even though he had as much as said that he once trained with the Templars.

All of her adolescent fantasies blew out the window as Alistair fumbled with the ties of her cloak and a breeze tickled the exposed skin at her neck. When Marian shivered involuntarily, he moved his mouth to nuzzle just under her ear, forcing a groan from her lips. Encouraged, he worked the laces free and moved to the hollow of her throat as the fabric fell to the ground and she buried her hands in his hair. Alistair had moved to kneel in front of her, face flush even in the moonlight as they both realized the position put him right in front of her...

"Maker!" she whispered harshly as his lips inexpertly caught a nipple through the fabric of her nightshirt. Heat rushed to the pit of her belly at the sensation and it was all she could do to keep from collapsing into his lap. As if he could sense Marian's falter, Alistair moved his hands to the back of her knees, sliding them hesitantly under the hem to rest them on her hips. When his mouth released her breast, Alistair guided her down into his lap.

Marian was absolutely certain that bulge in his trousers hadn't been quite as pronounced the last time their bodies had been pressed together, and he hissed as she slid against it. She mimicked the movements of his hands by wrapping them around him, slipping under his tunic and grabbing his waist as she pressed a kiss to the sensitive skin between his neck and collar bone. He tasted of sweat, dust, and something intoxicatingly **male**, and his arms tightened around her in response.

"I don't know..." Alistair rumbled into her ear, his voice wavering between desire and embarrassment. Resting his forehead on her shoulder, he confessed to their laps, "I don't know how long I can hold out, Marian. If I could've done this right..."

"Well, you're certainly not doing anything **wrong**," she teased, nudging the side of his face with her chin to get him to look up at her. Alistair's need for her was reflected in his eyes, but the expression on his face was one of shame and confusion. "I don't need flowers and candlelight and a big furry bear rug," she told him, pressing a kiss to his lips. "Right now, **this** is what's right."

His face melted at her words, and his desire was renewed. As his lips crashed down onto her own, Alistair began to tug at the hem of her tunic, breaking the kiss just long enough to slip it over her head before giving his attention to her breasts. His hands and mouth were a little clumsy, but having no basis of comparison Marian really didn't care. His tongue was sending shivers down her spine on one side, while he pawed, kneaded and squeezed the other one to heat her core with a furious need. Instinct seemed to be driving them both, and she pushed him away to remove his shirt before dropping her hips and grinding against his arousal.

"You bloody tease," he accused with a twinge of humor in his voice. In the space of a heartbeat, Marian found herself flat on her back, Alistair looming over her with a lopsided grin on his face. He took one finger, tracing a line from her neck, between the valley of her breasts, across her torso and slowly making his way to her womanhood. She couldn't think. Only feel. And as Alistair's hand traveled the barest of inches past her hips, Marian began to undo the lacings of his breeches. Her knuckles brushed against his erection just as the pad of his fingertip grazed the sensitive bud of her own sex, and they gasped at the sensations in unison.

They made short work of the rest of their clothing, awkwardly contorting themselves to continue exploring each other in the process. When Alistair stretched out above her, nude as the day he was born, the soft tip of his lower head brushed the folds covering her entrance as he leaned in for a long, gentle kiss. When Marian arched her hips in response, he eased into her with a groan, at first an inch, then two. It was uncomfortable, having to accommodate him, and when it finally registered that he hadn't fully penetrated her, she pulled away from the kiss and cupped his face in her hands.

"Are you hurt?" Alistair asked, a flicker of worry in his eyes.

"No," she admitted, truthfully.

"But it's going to, isn't it?" Marian bit her lip and nodded. "Should I..."

Before he could finish, she ran a hand down his side and playfully rested a hand on one bared ass cheek. She pulled him forward just as she arched into him yet again, and it was all the encouragement he needed to sheathe himself completely. The sting of losing her maidenhood lasted only the barest of moments, replaced with the dull ache of bearing Alistair's full size inside of her. It wasn't until she tasted the faint tang of blood that Marian realized she had bit her lip to hold back the cry of pain she had been expecting.

He didn't move. At least, not at first. He kissed the self-inflicted cut on her mouth, and softly ran his hand down her torso, mimicking his actions from only moments before. Her nipple hardened as his thumb circled it, her skin prickled as he skimmed fingers across her abdomen, and she gasped with refueled desire as he found her nub and gently played with it. And then they both moved.

Alistair stroked himself slowly inside of her, never once removing the hand that had settled itself between their joined bodies. Slick with need, Marian soon began lifting her hips to meet him as the initial throbbing bubbled into something much more primal. Each thrust sent ripples of pleasure coursing through her veins, each flick of his thumb enhancing her need to find completion. Marian encouraged him to move faster, her breathing hitched and heart beating furiously. And just when she thought she had hit the edge, she fell, the strength of her contractions forcing a cry from her throat.

Alistair pressed his mouth to hers just as the scream began to pass her lips and her world began to spin out of control. But within moments he grunted out his own orgasm, losing the ability to do anything than wrap his arms around Marian and crush her against him possessively as he spilled himself inside of her.

How long they lay together afterward, sweat soaked and panting for air, neither one knew for sure. He had moved only enough to keep from flattening her with his weight, exchanging kisses and soft touches to her face and shoulders. But when Marian finally peeked over Alistair's shoulder, there was a pink tint in the eastern sky and she sighed with resignation that the night had come to an end.

"'Aidan will be looking for you soon," she confessed halfheartedly, biting back a moan as he withdrew from where they had been joined to look at the horizon.

"Maker, I wish we'd had more time," Alistair complained, moving to sit in the grass and then pulling Marian against him. The warmth of his chest pressed to her back was more comforting than she had expected, even if his words weren't.

"Stupid Blight," she agreed, half teasing, and he gave her hands an affectionate squeeze.

"The stupid Blight just gave me something I thought I'd never have."

They sat in silence, listening to the sounds of dawn creeping in around them before Alistair finally began to reach for his clothes. Marian watched him, blushing at the memories of what they had just done together and noting that she hadn't once taken the time to admire his physique. Well, she was admiring it now, committing it to memory, eyes scanning every rippling muscle and minute scar.

"I meant it when I said I'll be back," he told her quietly as he tied his breeches. "But if the Darkspawn come here...I...I want you to run. Take your family and get away from Lothering. To Denerim, or...or Redcliffe. Preferably Redcliffe. But I need you to be safe..." He was babbling. And it was adorable. But when Marian raised an eyebrow and smirked, Alistair stopped talking and pulled her up against him. "I will find you again, Marian Hawke. I promise."

He held her until the first rays of sunlight peeked over the horizon. She didn't want him to go, damn the Blight, but Marian knew that if anyone had even the most remote chance of putting an end to it, Aidan and Alistair were Ferelden's only option. She pulled away, placing her hands on his cheeks and kissing him soundly before resting her head against his chest.

"I will live, and I will see you again, Alistair of the Grey Wardens. That is **my** promise."

His embrace nearly crushed her**, **but when he turned to go, she couldn't watch. Marian sank back to the ground, grasping for her small-clothes and nightshirt as she listened to him walk away. Finally, when the only sounds she heard were those of the rest of the world beginning to wake, she allowed herself to dress and return home.

* * *

****Disclaimer: Bioware owns Thedas & everyone in it. Lyric credit: "We Owned the Night" by Lady Antebellum****

A/N - Yep. I went there. Will I go there again? Hmm... Guess y'all had better stay tuned. ;-)


	6. I Stand Alone

**I Stand Alone**

_Make me believe that this place_

_Isn't plagued by the poison in me_

_And help me decide if my fire will burn out_

_Before you can breathe..._

_Breathe into me_

**10:06 Harvestmere; 09:30 Dragon**

"It itches."

Solona sighed in frustration at the Templar sitting on the chair in the infirmary. She had been working with him for nearly three months since the Circle mages had returned from Ostagar. Out of the dozen who had been sent, less than a handful had made it to Kinloch Hold, and only two Templars had survived. Three enchanters had succumbed to the darkspawn taint on their journey home, and the rest had perished on the battlefield with their guardians.

Wynne, Uldred, Petra and Cullen had stumbled into the main hall of the Tower weeks after the battle in the south, carrying a severely wounded Kayal on a liter between them. They had all been exhausted and half-starved, but the four of them had needed little more than a few days of rest and hearty meals to get them back to to a level of health that Solona was satisfied with. The fifth, however, had been confined to the infirmary ever since his return.

She had worried at first that he, too, had been tainted and would have to find peace at the edge of a dagger. But after washing the young man of the gore and dust that had collected, Solona made short work of finding the true source of his fever. An arrow had managed to pierce through his greaves, burying itself in his calf. The wound had gone septic on the trip home, and though Wynne had done as much as possible for him, Kayal had succumbed to fever a few days before they had reached the Tower.

Solona had tried for days to save the leg, but it was already too far gone. It hadn't gotten any worse, but there was nothing that could be done about the infection once gangrene had set in. Fatigued and frustrated, her mentor had eventually shooed her to bed. After a good night's rest, a couple of good meals and a few hours in the chapel later, Solona decided that the best way to save Kayal's life was to amputate.

"It's that or the crutches," she replied, reaching for his hands to help him stand. "Come on. If the pirates in those trashy stories Petra likes to read can do it, so can you."

"Ugh. I don't suppose it's too late for a career change, is it?"

She chuckled softly and shook her head. That he was making jokes was a good sign. Kayal had outright rejected the wooden leg when it had been presented as an option for him, but after a few weeks of working with it, Solona had decided to give it a test run outside of the infirmary.

"Not if you want supper."

"You drive a hard bargain," responded Kayal, finally taking the hand she had offered. He had started using his own strength to get up a few days past, but Solona knew he was still a bit shaky and wanted to make sure he was steady on the artificial limb before attempting to walk. Once he was on his feet, she relaxed her grip and backed away, encouraging him to follow. The first few steps, as usual, were tentative, but as they moved towards the door leading to the Tower's lobby, Kayal gained more confidence and eventually pulled his hand away from her completely.

"Maker, I need a shave," he mumbled, running a hand roughly over his jaw as they nodded at a passing Templar.

"And a haircut," agreed Solona, taking note of how long his shaggy brown hair had gotten over the past few months.

"Oh, no, not the hair. The ladies love the hair," Kayal teased. "I think Anders was onto something with that ponytail..." At the mention of her friend, he stopped and reached for her arm. "I'm sorry, Solona. I didn't mean..."

"I know," she replied softly, sparing him a weak smile. "I'm just worried about him is all."

They continued in silence, but she knew he hadn't meant to bring up her friend in order to cause her pain. When it was discovered that he had escaped in one of the crates bound for Ostagar, Solona was questioned just as she was every time Anders left, and she couldn't help but feel the tiniest bit of betrayal for it. He had been her best friend for many years, and for him to leave when there was a Blight on their doorstep had stung. A part of her hoped he would stay gone this time, if for no other reason than to spare her the task of having to deal with further attempts to leave. But she also genuinely worried for him, alone in a country that was crawling with darkspawn.

As they passed the Apprentice Quarters, a thick buzz permeated the inside of Solona's skull, and she reached out to lean against the wall. It felt vaguely familiar, and incredibly unpleasant, and a quick look to Kayal told her that he was having a similar problem. His hand was at his temple, and his face had visibly paled. When his eyes met hers, they were wide and panicked, and a split second later, she knew why.

Someone, somewhere in the Tower, had torn the Veil.

It washed over them like a wave, with the sounds of screaming coming from further ahead. This was nothing like what working magic had ever been for Solona, and didn't resemble anything she had felt from what the other mages specialized in. Yet that undertone of familiarity permeated the air, and it was beginning to make her physically ill.

Memories surfaced. Memories long since buried. Memories of death, blood, and a desecrated home.

"Blood magic," she whispered, falling to her knees against the wall. Solona was in a fog of pain, physical and emotional, the screams of her colleagues and friends dulled behind the mental wall she had erected to block the memories that had came flooding back after years of suppression. How long she sat there, she couldn't tell. Seconds. Minutes. Everything blurred together.

Someone, Kayal from the sound of the voice, was at her side, coaxing her to stand, but she just couldn't bring herself to do it. People were still screaming, from anger and fear both, and nothing was making any sense.

"Ser Kayal!" came another voice, one she recognized from those years she had thought lost. It belonged to the Knight-Commander, but when she looked up, the young Templar he had once been blended with the stoic face of the man he now was. His armor was spattered with blood, and he held his sword as if expecting to use it again at any second. Beside her, Kayal snapped to attention, struggling to his feet. Solona felt strong arms scoop her up, and she was promptly placed into someone else's.

"Get her and these others to the foyer. We need to seal the Tower from the malificarum."

"What about you, Knight-Commander?"

"I will be along shortly. Niall is searching for the Litany of Adralla, but if he doesn't find it soon..."

Solona couldn't see the look exchanged between the two men, but the part of her that wasn't in complete and utter shock knew what had been left unsaid. The Rite of Annulment.

.oOo.

The library was in chaos. Demons poured through the tears in the Veil as Cullen and his brothers frantically searched for survivors. Graegoir had gone ahead of them to the Apprentice dormitory, no doubt preparing to seal the main doors to prevent the blood mages from escaping the Tower. He was exhausted, and had seen so much death in just the short space of time it had taken to get where he was. But he had to find them. Faris. Solona. He had to make sure they were safe.

"Ser Cullen!"

A girl's voice broke through the cacophony, and when he turned, saw a small group of apprentices huddled in the corner with a fallen Templar. A petite figure was leaning over the armored man, frantically trying to heal him, and Cullen noticed that Faris was fighting a losing battle. He ran to the children, with another weary knight not far behind, and his suspicions were confirmed when he saw the elven boy crying over the body of one of the senior Templars.

"We have to get him to Solona," he wept. "She can help him..."

"He's beyond even her help now," Cullen whispered, pulling Faris away from the corpse. "We need to leave. It's not safe here."

As if on cue, a handful of demons rose from the floor, and a pair of blood mages cackled behind them. The children screamed, a few of them feebly lashing out with what minute skill they had acquired, and Cullen turned to face the enemy once again. Frantically, he tore through one, then two flaming personifications of Rage, watching as those he couldn't get to fast enough descended upon the apprentices. His companion fell, writhing from an unseen source of pain, and with a final burst of energy, Cullen lashed out to smite the mages responsible.

But it was too little too late. As one fell, the other sliced her throat to rejuvenate his own supply of magic. A heartbeat later, Cullen was being crushed by an unseen force, unable to move, every bone in his body screaming in agony. But everything around him had gone still. The children were no longer screaming. The demonic flames had subsided. Held in place by his invisible prison, Cullen's eyes darted around but could see nothing but the mage before him.

"Do you have him?" asked a voice approaching from the other side of the book case.

"Yes, Uldred. I believe so."

The Senior Enchanter, the very one who had come limping back to the Tower following the disaster at Ostagar with Cullen and the other three, came into sight and smiled maniacally. He approached the trapped Templar, circling him like a cat preparing to play with a mouse it was planning to devour.

"Yes, this is the one."

"What...whatever you want...from me..." Cullen spat, gasping for every breath, "...you shall not...have, Blood Mage!"

Uldred laughed, moving to stand directly in front of him. "You? Ha! I want nothing from you, Ser Cullen."

"But you said..." the other mage started, then shut his mouth when the elder turned his gaze on him.

"We have the Templar. And the boy lives as well, for now. She will come for them."

_She?_ Cullen thought. _Certainly they don't mean Solona. _But with a final glance at Uldred before falling into unconsciousness from the pain, he knew they did.

****Disclaimer** Bioware still owns it. Opening lyric credit "I Stand Alone" by Godsmack.**

**Thanks for the favorites/follows/comments on this story &/or my author page. We're back to Solona and Cullen for the next few chapters, but stick around for the long-haul. We'll see Marian again a little further down the road.**


	7. Haunted

**Chapter 7: Haunted**

_You're aching, so am I_

_When I awaken, discover that_

_I've been damaged by your_

_World_

_Dishonored by your world_

_Your world_

_I'm haunted by your world_

**10:19 Harvestmere; 09:30 Dragon**

"Let me help you."

Cullen opened his eyes to slits at the sound of her voice, simultaneously hoping and fearing that she had come for him at last. He couldn't see a damned thing. At least, not at first. Exhaustion and starvation had clouded his vision and drained his physical strength. But no matter what Uldred threw at him, Cullen would not give in to the blood mages.

They needed him alive. Bait for Solona, as if he could somehow conjure her through his misery. What they wanted her for was unclear, and their frustration at her failure to appear had grown. Cullen was unaware of the passing of days, as they had all begun to blur together when hunger and lyrium withdrawal set in the first night. Time moved forward at a snail's pace, and they had begun to invade his dreams with demons posing as the beautiful healer, tempting him with suppressed lust. He had resisted, had been able to banish them physically from his sight, but the images had left him painfully hard and wanting. More than once, he had shamefully relieved himself when he was abandoned with only the thoughts the demons had implanted.

Cullen had thought the desire would be his greatest test. He was wrong. The image of Solona once more manifested itself before him, with Faris' hand in her own. She was calm, concerned even, but the boy was anything but. He was terrified, flinching every time the false-healer shifted where she stood.

"Leave the boy alone, demon!" he spat.

"Give us what we want," it replied, holding Faris close to its side and stroking his hair. "Give us Solona. Then the boy will be free. You will be free. And the three of you can live. One. Big. Happy. Family."

The scenery before him blurred and shifted as the demon spoke. Solona reading Faris a story while he sat on her lap. Her belly was round with a child that grew within, and an image of himself stood over, watching them happily. Then the sight of her in bed, a babe at her breast. It was tempting. So very tempting. More so than any other dream he'd been cursed with. The look of bliss on Solona's face with the child in her arms was overwhelming, and Cullen started to reach for the bracelet at his wrist.

"Cullen, no!" shouted Faris, and the vision disappeared. In its place was the demon itself, in her horrifyingly seductive form, oozing sex and desire in a way that made his skin crawl. He would never be attracted to it. That it had worn Solona's form disgusted Cullen. In her arms was the elven boy, head cradled in its hands against the sleek feminine torso, a blade at his throat.

"I said to leave him be!"

"Foolish mortal. He has already outlived his usefulness. We will spare him only if you give us the healer."

There was desperation in the demon's voice. Had the tide turned? Had the Knight-Commander begun to execute the Rite of Annulment? Anxiously, Cullen looked to Faris. There was understanding in the child's expression. He was wise beyond his age to accept his fate, but it still twisted in the Templar's gut to know that maybe, just possibly, he could've saved the youngster.

"Faris," he whispered, as a tear slipped down the boy's cheek. "I'm sorry."

"She is safe," replied Faris, "and help is..."

Cullen roared with fury as the demon plunged the knife into the child's neck. He was helpless to save his friend, and pounded on the walls of his magical prison with energy he hadn't felt in days. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to extinguish the essence of the demon with his bare hand, but all it did was stand there and laugh at him. It had taken Solona's form again, but even that did nothing to dampen his hatred for the creature.

"She will not help! She will not come!" it screeched, drawing power from the child's life force and strengthening the shield he was trapped behind. "You will die. Starving, cold, and ..." a wicked smile spread across the false image of Solona's face. "Alone."

A heartbeat later, the demon disappeared. And Cullen was, indeed, alone.

.oOo.

Few people were up and about in the tower's foyer as Solona busied herself in the infirmary. She had checked and double-checked all of her supplies at least three times over since the Grey Warden and his companions had come with claims that the Circle must uphold the ancient treaties that would give aid in the fight against the darkspawn. They had entered the tower shortly after dawn, and spent nearly an hour arguing with Graegoir to let them handle the business of clearing out the blood mages and saving as many innocents as possible. The Knight-Commander had finally given in to their request, for though the remaining dozen Templars were formidable foes, Warden Cousland and his companions were battlefield veterans.

Three of his allies had chosen to stay behind under the pretense that a smaller force could sweep through more thoroughly and quickly. The young woman, Liliana, and the Qunari, Sten, had spent the afternoon hunting, knowing that whatever survivors came back would be in need of more than the meager supplies the tower had on hand. The buck one of them had brought down now turned on a spit in the foyer's grand fireplace, with the dashing elf Zevran keeping watch over the process while nearly everyone else slept.

Solona had dozed off and on throughout the day, so she was well-rested even at the late time. There had been little to do but sleep and worry over the course of the past fortnight, but with the end of the blood mage's siege of the tower in sight, preparations to receive the survivors had given everyone renewed vigor. The entry hall had been tidied, armor had been polished, and the quartermaster had even managed to acquire a fresh batch of lyrium potions from the merchant at the Spoiled Princess. While she would have preferred healing potions for smaller ailments, Solona was grateful that she would be able to tap enough mana to heal any of the worst that came her way once the Warden returned.

She ventured a peek back into the main hall, and the mysteriously handsome Zevran's eyes fell on her at the soft whisper of her movement. He offered a small smile for her, nodding his head towards the door where the Knight-Commander stood vigil. She hadn't spoken much to Ser Graegoir since their confinement had begun a fortnight before, and not at all since the Grey Warden had arrived. Knowing that he had done more worrying than resting, Solona plucked a small vial from a nearby shelf and went to join the Templar. He shifted slightly as she stood by his side, the only acknowledgment he would give with his focus on the dangers beyond the door to the library and dormitories.

"When was the last time you slept, Knight-Commander?" she asked tentatively, searching his face for an answer she was almost certain not to get. His eyes softened for the barest of seconds, unwavering in his duty, but enough for Solona to see the exhaustion written plainly in the dark circles and lines that materialized at the gesture. "Well," she continued, "I won't ask you to take to a bed, knowing you won't heed my advice in our given predicament, but should the worst happen..." With a trembling hand, she took Graegoir's gauntleted wrist to encourage him to unfurl his fingers from the pommel of his sword. He obliged, still without looking at her, turning his palm up as she placed the small potion in his hand, but as Solona drew her hand away, she felt the cold metal of his gloves tighten around her fingers.

"If the Warden fails, we will have to leave the Tower."

Her heart stopped at his softly-spoken words. She had expected him to insist on the Rite of Annulment. That they would clear out any of the mages that remained beyond the door they now stood in front of and rebuild their ranks from those who had been stranded in the foyer and infirmary for two weeks. But abandoning the Circle of Magi altogether had never crossed her mind as an option.

"Might I ask why, Knight-Commander?"

"We number at a dozen Templars and only three mages including ourselves, Solona." He finally turned his gaze on her, and she saw defeat warring with pride. "If what the Warden says is true, the Blight will sweep across Ferelden in a matter of months, and if he falls in his task here then it will be a year or more before foreign Grey Wardens can arrive to replace him. I have every confidence that we can isolate ourselves from the Darkspawn if we stay here," he sighed, looking back at the door. "But even if we manage to clear out the malificarum, we have no way of self-sustaining."

This, along with the threat within the Tower itself, had obviously been gnawing at Graegoir during their isolation in the front hall of Kinloch Hold. It wasn't difficult for Solona to understand why. They had been forced to ration food, and what little they had left would only last them a few days longer. If they found themselves in a situation where they would have to dig in, they would likely starve to death within a few months.

"Where would we go?"

"The Free Marches, most likely," replied Graegoir, releasing her hand and tucking away the vial into a pouch at his waist. "I'm sure we'd be welcome in Orlais as well, but the Circle in Starkhaven..."

His answer was cut short by a pounding on the door, startling them both into full awareness. The sounds of others in the room were heard as well, those who had been jolted into wakefulness by the sound. Graegoir gripped his sword and ushered Solona behind him as two more Templars flanked the Knight-Commander, preparing for whatever waited on the other side.

"State your name," Graegoir insisted from whomever was knocking. A muffled reply from the other side had all four of them gasping with relief, but Ser Kayal materialized to hold Solona back as his Commander went to lift the bar to allow the First Enchanter entry. She had to resist the urge to rush forward as first Irving, then Wynne led the Grey Warden's team out of the dormitory hallway and into the foyer. There were others as well, mages and Templars alike, all weary and in various states of injury. But so very few of them there were, and not a single sight of the ones she had hoped...

"Cullen," she breathed, her heart lurching, aching to go to him as he emerged through the doorway. He looked exhausted, malnourished and pale. His armor hung loose and his complexion was blotchy. Solona tried to tug herself from Kayal's grip, but her Templar guardian held fast. And when he finally looked up into the crowd that had gathered, Cullen's eyes met hers and she froze under his gaze. The warm hazel orbs she had lost herself in so many times over the years had grown cold, and a flash of pain and fury spread across his face when he recognized her.

"Witch!" he cried, pushing through the milling group of survivors towards her. "Demon! Be gone from my sight!"

Solona had no time to react, not even enough time to scream, as he raised an arm and clenched his fist. The room went dark, her sight and consciousness gone as her magic was painfully and abruptly drained.

.oOo.

It was done. It was finally done. The demon that had plagued him, that followed him to a place that had been deemed safe, had finally been vanquished. The witch that wore Solona's face collapsed bonelessly in the arms of his brethren.

"Foolish boy!" hissed a voice nearby, and he was abruptly turned by the arm to face the fury of the Knight-Commander. "You'd best pray to the Maker that you didn't just kill our Healer."

"S...Solona?" Cullen squeaked, shocked back into reality by Graegoir's words.

"She lives," Ser Kayal said, lifting the willowy mage into his arms and staring hard at the offender. Panic rose in Cullen's blood and he struggled to find words that he knew would inadequately express his sudden and gut-wrenching shame.

"I didn't know it was...the demon...it wore her face. I...I didn't know..." He wiped a palm across his face, staring in shock as Kayal took his beloved Solona away without so much as another word. The Knight-Commander still held a fast grip to his elbow, and Cullen knew he would be in for a severe reprimand once they were able to abandon their audience.

"Graegoir, I need a word with you," the First Enchanter interrupted quietly, himself weakened with pain and exhaustion. "The lad needs a good meal, and a long rest. This can be dealt with afterward."

"I'll take care of him," said a strangely familiar voice from behind as a hearty hand clapped him sympathetically on the shoulder. It was the Warden Alistair, as memory served through the muddle of the past few hours, and Cullen glanced at him curiously. Why the young man had taken an interest in him was beyond reasoning, but he wasn't about to turn down the assistance.

"Thank you, Warden," Graegoir acknowledged. To Cullen he said, "We will speak on the morrow about this, Ser Cullen."

"Yes, Knight-Commander."

The two older men took themselves off to a secluded corner to speak while Alistair led him across the foyer to where a small group had gathered around the fire. The scent of venison hit him a split second before he saw it roasting, and Cullen's mouth began to water. But before they could get any closer, Alistair pointed towards a row of cots that had been set up along the wall nearby.

"Pick one and get out of that armor. I'll bring your food in a moment."

Too tired to complain or question, Cullen did as he was told. It was much easier to shed the layers of steel than he expected, but the energy to care for it beyond stacking it in a heap near his makeshift bed was beyond his limit. As he lowered himself to the cot, a steaming plate of meat and bread was shoved into his hands. He wanted to shovel it all in as fast as he could, but after so much time without decent fare, Cullen knew he needed to take his time with the meal. As he lifted the fork for his first bite, his new companion sat next to him and did the same.

"We were trapped for a bit," Alistair started, breaking the silence. "In the Fade. A Sloth demon, I think. Each of us in our own little dream, tailor made to the dreamer." The Warden looked at Cullen, waiting for the meaning to sink in. The Templar nodded, encouraging the story to continue since the young warrior was obviously going somewhere with it in hopes of helping. "I had a wife. Children. A family. Everything I thought I would be content with in life. And Maker she was almost perfect."

"She?"

Alistair's face softened and a lazy grin spread across his face. "Marian. The demon plucked her from my memories and gave me a dream with everything I wanted for her. For us. But..." his voice trailed off, and hitched with a twinge of sadness.

"It wasn't her."

"No," replied Alistair softly. "No, it was the demon."

The weight of what Cullen had done to Solona hit him instantly in the gut, and he found himself setting down his plate to bury his face in his hands. This Grey Warden, this **stranger**, understood what had plagued him better than Cullen himself could. That these demons could take something so precious, so beloved, and twist it into an instrument of emotional torture. And that the Maker-cursed blood mages had brought such evil into the Tower was infuriating.

"Do you love her?" came Alistair's soft query, piercing through the swirling thoughts in Cullen's mind.

"Maker forgive me, I do," he replied. Alistair sat for a moment, absorbing the simple confession as if he were searching his own soul for answers. Finally, he stood, taking Cullen's empty plate and looking down at the Templar with a sad, sympathetic smile.

"Tell her. Before it's too late."

Without another word, the Warden strode away to where his companions had gathered, shedding his own armor and throwing himself onto a nearby bedroll. Cullen's eyes traveled past the scene to settle on the doorway of the infirmary and he caught a glimpse of Solona's form resting on one of the visible beds while Wynne bustled between two injured Templars nearby. He wanted to go to her. To apologize. To explain. But when the older mage's eyes caught his own, the warning was clearly written on her face.

_Not today_, he thought, turning away and allowing himself to finally lay down. Exhaustion caught up with him as Cullen's head hit the pillow, and before he knew it, the darkness of dreamless sleep consumed him.

* * *

****Disclaimer** The deed to Dragon Age is locked inside of a masterwork chest somewhere within the Bioware castle. Title/lyric credit is "Haunted" by Disturbed.**


	8. The Crow & the Butterfly

**The Crow & The Butterfly**

_I never thought you'd slip away._

_I guess I was just a little too late._

**10:20 Harvestmere; 09:30 Dragon**

She had refused to speak with him. In point of fact, Solona hadn't spoken to anyone since waking mid-afternoon of the previous day. Not even when they brought Faris' body did she utter a single peep or shed a tear. She simply went about her work, tending to the wounded and tidying the infirmary.

Cullen heard murmurs amongst the ranks that she had been called into a conference with Wynne, Graegoir, Irving and the Grey Warden leader, Aidan. Those whispers had hinted at her leaving with the Warden at dawn as their journey would take them to the perilous Frostback mountains and they were in desperate need of a healer. Her former mentor had been raised as the more likely candidate at first, but the Senior Enchanter was still weak from her ordeal and Solona...well, she at least seemed to be physically recovering from what he had done to her.

It had been a dreary day, and ten souls had been sent to the Maker on the banks of Lake Calenhad. Most of those in attendance had gone inside as soon as the first flames caught, put off by the wicked wind and threat of snow, but the young Healer had refused to leave. She stood alone before her apprentice's funeral pyre, a slim silhouette against the fire that burned against the darkening sky. The Knight-Commander himself kept watch nearby, but he turned as Cullen made his way towards the beach. A flicker of understanding lit Graegoir's eyes as they fell on the younger knight, and he moved from his post to offer a friendly pat on Cullen's shoulders as the two men walked past one another. It wasn't a grand gesture, but it held all of the approval he needed in order to mend his rift with Solona.

She was speaking quietly when he approached, head held high as she watched the fire consume Faris' earthly remains. As Cullen drew closer, he could make out words from the Chant of Trials and the traces of tears that had slipped down her cheeks. Absently, he slipped his hand into hers, startling her back into silence. He had no words to give her, so instead he picked up the verses where she had left off.

"Cross the Veil and the Fade

And all the stars in the sky.

Rest at the Maker's right hand..."

"And be Forgiven," she whispered along with him, giving his hand a squeeze.

They had never needed many words to express themselves to one another, and their subtle communication drove home to Cullen that **this** was his Solona. Not the chatty, aggressive demon that wore her form, but the flesh-and-blood essence of the woman he loved. On impulse, he raised his free hand to her cheek and tilted her face towards his own.

It was the barest of kisses. A gentle touch of his lips to hers. A promise that he would never allow himself to hurt her again.

Her tears began to flow once more as Cullen pulled away and rested his forehead against hers. "No, don't do that," he whispered, wiping them away as they fell.

"But Faris..." she choked. "And what they did to you..."

"If you had come, we would have all perished," Cullen replied, shuddering as he remembered his conversation with the First Enchanter that afternoon. What the blood mages had planned to use Solona for was unholy. Unthinkable. And they would have prolonged his own torture as a means to break her to their will. "I love that boy as truly as you do, and he gave his life to save yours. Just as...just as I would, Solona."

They stood there for what seemed like an eternity, his eyes lost in her pools of lavender. Whatever battle she waged inside her head was a mystery, for Cullen saw despair warring with desire as she gazed at him in silence. Finally, Solona's look softened, and she raised her hand to cover his.

"Cullen?"

"Yes, Love?"

"Kiss me again."

As the first fat flakes of snow fell and swirled around them, he was more than happy to oblige.

.oOo.

**10:21 Harvestmere; 9:30 Dragon**

Solona felt ridiculous. As she stood in the front hall with Wynne fussing over her, the few Tower residents who were awake at that unholy hour of the morning openly stared. The travel robes that her former mentor had managed to scrounge up were heavier in weight than what she wore inside the boundary of Kinloch Hold, and with good reason as winter had descended with a vengeance and their party would be in the mountains for a good two months at least. But she alternately felt extremely exposed, as the split skirt that would allow for better maneuverability also bared much more leg than she was comfortable with. True, the skin was covered with soft woolen hose and a pair of sturdy leather boots concealed her calves, but the barest shape of thigh peeked out from the folds of the dress and it was positively scandalous.

"It was good of Ser Cullen to loan you his cloak," the Senior Enchanter commented, slipping a spell component pouch onto one of the three belts. Solona caught the slight gleam in Wynne's eyes before she busied herself adjusting the buckles. "You're tall for a woman, and the extra length will do you some good in the Frostbacks."

Solona gave the faintest of smiles as she reached for the heavy drape of fabric that had been tucked under her pack at some point during the night. She and Cullen had given their farewells to one another that evening before bed, knowing that if he were to show up as she was leaving, Solona would most likely have a change of heart about assisting the Wardens.

A part of her hated leaving. The Circle Tower had been her home for seventeen years. But that first trip through the destruction had made her lightheaded and sick to her stomach, and Solona hadn't been able to travel further in than the dormitory since. The stench of blood magic permeated the stone, and Solona knew there was no way she could stay without succumbing to the strange, debilitating effect it had on her until the Veil could be better repaired. Wynne and the First Enchanter believed it had something to do with her healing abilities, that she _felt_ the forbidden practices more deeply because of her strong connection to the life forces it drew from.

Solona knew this wasn't the reason she was being sent with the Wardens. In fact, if anything, it would have been better suited to leave her in the Tower to study defenses against being caught unawares by blood magic a second time. Graegoir's acceptance of sending her in Wynne's stead came on the heels of her recovering from Cullen's smiting only to discover her apprentice had been a victim of the demon that had been torturing him at Uldred's behest.

She had wanted to wail. She had wanted to fall into bed crying, vehemently pushing everyone away to leave her to mourn. But all she had been able to feel was cold, hollow and numb. Cullen hadn't approached her at all prior to their meeting on the beach, a combination of fear and remorse holding him at bay, and he had been the only other person in the Tower who had been as close to Faris as Solona had been. And so in the time following her discovery of the young elf's corpse, the healer had withdrawn from interacting with anyone more than was absolutely needed, and she certainly hadn't bothered with conversation of any sort. And the change was one that everyone noticed, even the Knight Commander.

So she had allowed them to send her away from the Tower.

.oOo.

**10:30 Harvestmere; 9:30 Dragon**

The young healer's skills were tested five days into their trek north when the Wardens stumbled across a troupe of Darkspawn scouts. It was more challenging, having to protect a party member who was both necessary to their mission and completely lacking in any combat skill whatsoever, but both Leliana and Alistair had stepped up to the task seamlessly. And Knight-Commander Graegoir had certainly not exaggerated Solona's abilities.

She faltered only the slightest bit at the sight of their enemy, but kept a keen eye on her companions, careful to give them just what was needed to staunch any blood-flow from an open wound or isolate and contain any poison. When the battle was over, she inspected them more thoroughly, pulling an arrow from Zevran's shoulder that she hadn't been able to do from a distance, and mending Sten's two broken ribs. What had once cost them two days of rest and recovery, Solona had been able to take care of in less than three hours.

A few nights later found them sitting around the camp fire, with the red-headed bard skillfully braiding Solona's hair while the elf sat nearby, regaling stories of his youth in Antiva. The two had been trying their hardest to get the newest member of their party to open up, but she had never given more than a shy smile or a whispered reply to their questions. Alistair watched quietly from across the fire ring, fascinated with the young woman but still somehow unable to allow himself to pry into whatever secrets she held close.

"Thinking of another young mage?" Aidan asked as he approached from behind, moving to take a seat on the fallen log his fellow Warden sat on. Alistair sighed heavily and looked at his companion.

"I am now."

"Come now, brother. You can't tell me that you haven't seen the similarities."

"I have," Alistair confessed, sparing another glance towards Solona. It was the eyes. Those deep, amethyst orbs that were so like Marian's that his heart lurched every time the healer glanced his way. Guilt had suffocated him when he had learned of Lothering's demise, and there had been no word of the Hawke family's fate. "But Leliana says that Solona was raised in the Tower and never knew about her family."

"So it's possible. I mean, what are the odds that there are two mages in Ferelden with purple eyes?"

"**Were**," he corrected, his tone a mix of bitterness and heartbreak.

"You don't know that for certain," Aidan encouraged. "There were a few who made it out of Lothering. Garrett's family could have, too. We'll just have to wait and see. Right now we need to concentrate on stopping the Blight."

At the sound of approaching footsteps, both men looked up to see Solona approaching. Her gaze rested on Alistair for the briefest of moments before she sat between them. She kept the heavy fur-lined Templar cloak wrapped around her shoulders, though the hood had fallen to expose her silvery-blonde braids. Up close, the similarities between Solona and Marian were hard to ignore, and Alistair only half paid attention to her attempts to find the words for the conversation she had obviously come over to have. But instead of asking him about her potential long-lost relative, she turned instead to Aidan.

"The Tower was my home. The Templars. The other mages. They're my family," she whispered, twisting her hands together in her lap. "How...how do you move on after you've lost so many of them?"

Her voice had hitched at the end, and both men looked at each other over her head as the first tears slipped down Solona's face. It was no secret what had happened to Aidan's family in Highever, but nobody they'd met so far had cause to sympathize with him. They had mistaken her unwillingness to get close to the other party members as an odd sort of aloofness they had come to associate with mages in general after dealing with Morrigan the past few months. Never had they reckoned on it being a coping mechanism for what had happened at Kinloch Hold.

Without skipping a beat, Aidan pulled her against his shoulder in a brotherly embrace while she silently wept. And though his comrade would deny it, Alistair swore he saw tears pooling in his leader's eyes. As he sat in silent vigil over his mourning companions, the blonde warrior looked up into the night. Above them was a clear sky, with a bright moon just a few days past full.

A moon he silently prayed that a certain dark-haired mage was also looking up at and remembering the night they were under it together.

* * *

****Disclaimer** "Dragon Age" is the brainchild of Bioware. Chapter/lyric credit: "The Crow and the Butterfly" by Shinedown.**

**Thanks again for the love you all have been giving my story. I wish I could post more often, but my muse is pestering me about chapters that will come much farther down the road and is making these early ones more difficult to work on.**


	9. I Won't See You Tonight

**Chapter 9: I Won't See You Tonight**

_Marian Hawke was restless. She hated playing babysitter to her mother and that stupid Templar while her siblings scouted ahead. They should all be on the move. The darkspawn wouldn't stop chasing them just because Ser Wesley needed to rest. Bethany had done all she could for the man and well...he just wasn't getting any better._

_She almost didn't notice the ground shaking beneath her feet as she paced the edge of the path that had led their party to the rocky outcrop. But if the first rumble had given her pause, the second one had her on guard, and Marian quickly looked around for the source. She saw the horns first as the spawn hauled itself over the edge of the cliff. Big horns. On a big. Fucking. Ogre._

"_Get back down the path," she muttered at her mother, maneuvering herself between her charges and the beast. Marian pulled at the well of power from deep inside herself, her hands starting to glow orange as the ogre finally took notice of them. It's roar of challenge echoed through the mountaintop._

"_Marian, no," begged Leandra Hawke, but it fell on deaf ears. Mother and daughter exchanged a look, knowing that the young mage could buy them precious seconds until the others returned. Nothing more was said. Nothing needed to be, so Marian returned her attention to the creature._

_She didn't need to turn back around to know that her mother and the Templar had done as she said. With a yell of defiance, Marian released the energy that had been balling in her hands and the air around the ogre erupted into fire. It flashed out quickly, revealing a very pissed off monster with tattered remains of fur and leather falling off its body in fiery tufts. It roared again, rocking Marian to her core._

_And then it charged._

"_Shit!" she exclaimed, hastily tossing a blast of frozen air at it. Ice clung to the once-burning remains of its armor, but still it came and Marian froze. Years of practice. All the training her father had given her. Gone. She couldn't remember a single bit of it._

_The pain of the impact was nearly unbearable. It felt as if every bone in her body was broken, yet somehow she managed to scrabble to a stand. The ogre was nearby. She could hear it as it prepared for another attack. Felt the ground shake as it moved closer. Absently, Marian threw out another blast of ice towards it, knowing it would make no difference. It was reaching for her..._

_Someone screamed her name. Carver. She barely saw him out of the corner of her eye, a blur of steel and leather, knocking her away from the ogre. Taking her place in it's grasp._

_Her brother didn't die the first time the beast slammed his body into the ground. And he didn't the second time, either, but at least he didn't feel anything by that point. But the third time, Marian felt it, and she knew. The blow to his head had snapped his neck when he collided with the stone precipice, and the ogre left him there, broken and bloodied. Carver Hawke would not be getting back up. _

_For the next several minutes it was as if Marian was a passenger in her own mind. Her body, her magic, knew what it needed to do. Survive. Save the others. Kill this damned ogre and all it's darkspawn kin._

_Kill them. Kill them. Kill them. There were too many. Surrounded. Exhausted. Falling. Failing. And then..._

_A dragon._

.oOo.

06:04 Justinian; 09:31 Dragon

Marian snapped her eyes open to the dark room where she slept with her mother and sister. That dream again. It was different each time. Sometimes another sibling died. Others, she acted as one of them would have in her place. But the core memory of it haunted her. She hadn't had the nightmare in weeks, but now it crept back into her head. She'd been idle for too long.

Athenril's last job had been completed a mere handful of days beforehand, and with most of the mercenary crew recovering from injuries, the Hawke siblings had been looking for ways to keep themselves busy and out of the hovel their Uncle Gamlen called home. Eight months they had been working for the elven smuggler, having already earned back their bribe for entrance into Kirkwall a few times over. But the contract was for one year, and all three of them were ready to be rid of it and return home.

Home. Ferelden. Lothering. The village they had lived in before the horde came flooding down on them was gone, along with a dozen others just like it. News had been trickling in on the progress of the Blight, about how the only two surviving Grey Wardens were scouring the country, gathering an army to fight the Darkspawn. Aidan's name was on everyone's lips these days, especially with the most recent news that he was to wed to King Cailan's widow and take the throne. He had apparently been of noble birth. Noble enough to win the crown that Alistair had vehemently declined.

The king's brother. That had been hard news to swallow when she had heard it. She had been honest with him about her magic, and it stung that he hadn't been able to tell Marian that he was the base-born son of King Marric Theirin. But the long hours spent not working had given her time to sort it out that, yes, he **could** have been noble, but since it wasn't something he wanted he never felt it important enough to share. He was a warrior, Templar trained and honed into perfection with the Grey Wardens. And for one night, Alistair was the lover to a lonely apostate.

Marian had promised she would live, and had upheld that part of her promise. The war against the Darkspawn was coming to an end, and soon she would return to Ferelden so that she and Alistair could live up to the rest of their promises. He **would** find her. She ** would** see him again. Marian would join the Wardens herself if she had to, so long as they could rekindle the fire that had burned so strongly between them in Lothering.

"Do you suppose Aveline is off-duty today?"

Bethany's soft voice cut thought the silence, putting an abrupt end to Marian's musings. The younger Hawke daughter always seemed to know when the nightmares came, and they had come to an understanding that instead of acknowledging them, it was best to find a diversion until the older daughter had worked the fear out of her system. How they had all managed to survive the horde and make their way to Kirkwall was an enigma, for at any moment it all could have gone horribly wrong.

"I think so," Marian replied after a quick analysis of how many days had passed since they had last seen their freckled companion. Aveline had been reluctant at first to accept their offer to be admitted into the city with the Hawke family, but had wasted no time in finding work with the Kirkwall guard. Her battle and command experience had made the transition into her new position relatively painless, and she had made sure to keep in touch with her fellow Fereldens regularly.

The girls dressed quietly in the dark, abandoning their mercenary armor for common street clothes. Kirkwall in the summer was blasted **hot**, and any excuse to not traipse about in leather and chain mail was a welcome one. Even mage armor was uncomfortable during the heat of the day, and she always spared a sympathetic look for her brothers whenever they had to don the layers of wool and steel for their duties with Athenril.

They slipped from the bedroom, sparing a glance for their sleeping mother, and as an afterthought, Marian grabbed her tackle bag. Whistling low for Grunt, who had been as bored as the humans, she watched as Bethany scrawled a quick note for the rest of the family. Stopping by the weapon rack near the door, she debated between her staff or the bow, but the thought of fresh meat on the table and some extra coin decided her.

"It's strange seeing you with that," Bethany commented as they locked up the house and headed down the stairs. "But it was good of Reigan to offer to teach you."

Marian smiled at the memory of when the ancient Daelish Ranger had made that particular offer. They had been stuck for three days in the middle of nowhere, waiting on a caravan that had never shown up. He had found her at a nearby pond, sulking with boredom, trying to make a fishing rod. Impressed with her unexpected skill as an angler, Reigan had offered to broaden her training. It had only taken two months of lessons before Marian brought down her first deer.

"I'll never be a true archer. Not like those in the army. But at least I could make a decent living from it after we've paid off our debt to Athenril."

"Not if the boys have any say in the matter. You know they'll be perfectly content starting their own mercenary company."

"And Garrett won't want for recruits," Marian confessed. "Maker, he attracts friends as easily as he attracts trouble."

Bethany giggled at the analogy, and the elder Hawke smiled contentedly. It was rare when the two of them could just enjoy being sisters together. They were each closely bonded with the boys, but not with each other. But then again, it was the same with Garrett and Carver, so maybe theirs wasn't such a unique relationship after all.

.oOo.

Seneschal Bran's eyes snapped to the foyer of the Viscount's Keep as soon as he saw the two dark-haired sisters come through the door. He had seen them before, but never just the two. He knew who they were, and who they had come to see. It irked him to no end that they were Free Marchers by blood, noble blood at that, but Ferelden by birth. If only Leandra hadn't run off with that damned apostate...

_An apostate that produced a handsome brood of children_, his libido reminded him as Bran's gaze settled on the older, more petite of the two girls. Normally he could contain his lecherous thoughts while on duty for the Viscount, but something about Marian Hawke struck his fancy in a way no other woman had managed to do in nearly two decades. But if his informants were correct, and they rarely were, she had already promised herself to one of the Grey Wardens fighting in her homeland.

The enormous doors opened again while he subtly watched the Hawke sisters make their way towards the guard barracks, the formidable Mabari war-hound between them. So it came as a surprise when a page-boy burst into the crowd, passing out sheaves of paper and exclaiming, "It's over! It's over! The Blight has ended!"

Shouts and cheers went up through the crowded hall, but his focus was on the Fereldens. The girls hugged each other tight, squealing with joy as Marian snatched one of the fliers that were being passed around. They had stopped in place on the stairs, only moving to the side near the wall to get out of the way of those who hadn't. Bran could feel their excitement as they quietly read the news, mouths moving along with the words. And he noticed immediately when their mood ceased to reflect that of the others around them.

Marian's face visibly fell, and she began to shake her head violently as she reached for her sister, tears streaming down her face. Bran had seen that reaction before, in the wives and sweethearts of soldiers and guardsmen who had fallen in the line of duty. Unable to bear to watching Marian in her private misery, he looked down at the sheet of paper that someone had managed to put in his hands, knowing it would only confirm what his gut was telling him.

The Blight was indeed over, but at a great cost. Alistair Theirin, Grey Warden and son of the late King Marric Theirin, had perished while dealing the death-blow to the Arch-Demon in Denerim.

* * *

****Disclaimer** Dragon Age is the rightful property of Bioware. Chapter title credit: "I Won't See You Tonight (Part One)" by Avenged Sevenfold.**

**A/N: 1) Yes, I went there. This was the very first chapter I had written for this story, and everything else has woven itself around Alistair's sacrifice. Believe me when I say that it serves a greater purpose. 2) I've made some very obvious changes to the story, starting with the title. I've decided that instead of breaking it up, I will instead post one continuous tale that will take us to the end of DA2 and beyond. I will also be throwing in different points of view on how the events of this story impact our heroines. 3) Now that the "introductory" chapters are out of the way, we can move to the heart of the tale. I hope I don't lose any of you along the way. And, as always, please do not forget to follow/favorite/comment. Thanks so much to those of you who do.**


	10. Does It Really Matter

**Does It Really Matter**

_It's hard to say,_

_But now you're gone..._

_To me you really matter._

06:09 Justinian; 09:31 Dragon

The dark-haired girl had returned. She was wearing dusty armor in the colors of a known smuggler's crew and she had a staff by her side instead of a longbow, but Sebastian Vael recognized the young woman as the same from the day Kirkwall reveled after the fall of the Archdemon.

The Chantry had been fairly empty since the news from Ferelden had been announced. All of the refugees had taken to the streets in celebration, and many Free Marchers joined them. Everyone knew that the young Warden Alistair had sacrificed himself to slay the dragon, and all were singing his praises. But there were a handful who had come to pray for the souls of those lost, and the mysterious girl was among them.

Cautiously, Sebastian approached. Her sorrow was a beacon he couldn't ignore a second time, and none of the other brothers or sisters in the Chantry had spoken with her. She prayed quietly, sitting still as a stone but for the flicker of her eyes towards him in acknowledgment. Since he hadn't been dismissed, Sebastian took a seat next to her on the pew.

"He liked cheese," she said after a few moments of silence. "And telling corny jokes. He was perfection on the field of battle and horribly shy around pretty girls."

"Not so shy if he spoke to you," Sebastian dared. Anything to get the young woman to continue speaking, to purge the grief she wore like a cloak around her heart. He was rewarded with a weak smile, and she turned to face him.

"True enough. He was a good man. I've never met his like before or since. He only saw me. Not the face I wear, but the woman I am beneath it."

"Then the Maker truly blessed you by bringing him into your life. Am I wrong to assume he is gone now?"

"He is."

"Husband?"

"No. We had barely even met, truth be told. Months ago." A blush crept across her cheeks as she looked away. Not in shame, but more as if she were reliving a moment that she'd rather not share. When she turned back to Sebastian, her eyes brimmed with tears. "After my father died, my brother and I poured everything we had into keeping the family cared for. I never asked the Maker for anything for myself. Not until I met him. And all I wanted was for us to keep the promises we made to one another."

"And did you?"

"I promised him that I would live, and I did. He promised he would find me. And...he did." She opened her hands, which had been folded in her lap while they spoke. In her palms rested a locket, which she caressed absently with one thumb. "This came through the post today. It was his. He had given it to a friend to send to me in case he didn't survive the battle in Denerim."

Sebastian was dumbfounded. He could have been listening to a fairy story. Two young people finding love in the midst of war, vowing to make a life together at its end. But fairy stories were supposed to end with happiness, not heartbreak. Trusting that the Maker would find the words for him, Sebastian took the woman's hands.

"Love, however fleeting, is a blessed thing. I know not more than what you have told me, but perhaps the Maker saw fit to give it to you when you needed it so that you would recognize it as more than a passing fancy. So that some day, when the time is right, you will know love again and be able to embrace it." He saw her eyes brim with tears, but none dared to fall. Sebastian offered her a friendly smile and continued. "Your beau may be at the Maker's side now, but he went to his death with you in his thoughts and in his heart. Cry only happy tears, lass."

"I will," she replied, standing as the weight seemed to visibly lift from her shoulders. Since her hands were still folded within his own, he rose with her. "Thank you, Brother...?"

"Sebastian," he supplied.

"Marian," came her response. She gave his fingers a final squeeze, then turned to leave, her burdens much lighter than when she had arrived. Sebastian watched her for a moment, then resigned himself to return to his duty in the Chantry. As he made his way past the pew where they had been sitting, he noticed a neatly folded paper that had fallen to the floor. With shaking hands, he picked it up and noticed that it had been addressed to Marian. It was sealed with the crest of the Grey Wardens.

.oOo.

Hours passed as the letter to Marian Hawke burned a hole in the pocket of Sebastian's Chantry robes. He had sworn he would return it. Had resisted the temptation to read it. But as he settled into bed, the folded parchment with the blue wax seal stared at him from the side table.

A glimpse. Just a hint at what Marian's love had written in his final hours. To help her. To understand her.

_My Dearest Marian,_ he read, hands trembling.

_A letter during a time of war isn't a welcome sight. I assure you, if you are reading this, I would much rather it be me delivered to your doorstep than these flimsy words on paper. I'm sure any number of rumors, most of which are true, have reached you long before this will, and I'm sorry...so terribly terribly sorry...that I wasn't able to tell you about my father. Being a Grey Warden is more important to me than some silly throne, and Aidan can take care of that nastiness quite well in my stead._

_Anyhow. The letter. I know why I'm writing this. You know why you've received it. I'm going to burn this blasted thing if the Maker permits me to. But, you're reading it, obviously, so that didn't happen._

_There's a Circle mage that has been traveling with us these past few months. She has the same color eyes you do, which strikes me as odd that I've never seen another person with purple eyes before in my life and then I meet two of you within three months of each other. Maybe there's a family connection. Her name is Solona Amell. She's doe-eyed over one of the Templars of all things. I guess, in a way, you have that in common, too since I was, well...you know._

_I love you. Weird to admit since we didn't spend much time together, but there you have it. And it only took me half a sheet of parchment to spit that out. I've certainly been chewing on it for long enough, and you need to know in case...well, in case you get this letter. So, I love you. _

_And I hate having to tell you like this._

_From my heart to yours, _

_Alistair_

The king's son wasn't terribly eloquent, but he was honest. And, as Marian had said, a good man. Sebastian nearly folded the note before realizing that there was a smaller script at the bottom of the page, written in a different hand.

_Marian – The locket belonged to Alistair's mother. He wanted you to have it. I miss him terribly already, as I'm sure you do. He was as dear to me as my own brother. Please give my regards to Garrett and the rest of your family. I will be in touch as often as time permits. - Aidan_

Aidan Cousland, King of Ferelden, was on a first-name basis with the woman Sebastian had been consoling only hours before. Which meant that Marian's lover was Alistair Theirin, the Warden who had sacrificed himself to deliver the killing blow against the Archdemon. Sebastian had already suspected as much, but having it in black-and-white delivered a stronger blow.

"Oh, Maker, what a tangled web you've caught me in," the former Prince of Starkhaven said with a sigh as he hid the letter in the table's small drawer. Pulling up the covers and blowing out the candle, Sebastian prayed that he would at least be caught with good company.

* * *

****Disclaimer** Bioware's. Still. Always. Damn it all. Chapter title/lyric credit: "Does it Really Matter" by Theory of a Deadman.**

**A/N: A quick shout-out to Verdandi73 for the amazing reviews on this and other stories. I was very down about the low response this was getting compared to my Mass Effect fics. It's amazing what a single positive response can do for a writer's ego. ;-) We still have a long way to go with Solona and Marian's tales, and you'll be seeing Miss Amell again in the next installment.**


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